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EDITED BY
JOHN T. MORSE, JR.
SHnietitan ^tatejSmcn
GEORGE WASHINGTON
BY
HENRY CABOT LODGE
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
(3Ll)t nitJer0iDe <!ramljnb0e
1889
Copyright, 1889,
By henry CABOT LODGE.
All rights reserved.
The Riverside Press, Cambridge:
Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co.
CONTENTS.
4 -
PAGE
~i
The Old Dominion
CHAPTER 1.
. 15
The Washingtons
CHAPTER II.
. 29
On the Frontier
CHAPTER III.
. 52
CHAPTER ly.
Love axo Marrlage
CHAPTER V.
. 125
CHAPTER yi.
Saving the Revolution
154
VI
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VII.
“Malice Domestic, and Foreign Levy” .... 180
CHAPTER VIH.
The Allies . . .
CHAPTER IX.
Arnold’s Treason, and the War in the South . 264
Yorktown . . .
CHAPTER X.
Peace .
CHAPTER XI.
INTRODUCTION.
Febkuary 9th in the year 1800 was a gala day
in Paris. Napoleon had decreed a triumphal pro¬
cession, and on that day a splendid military cere¬
mony was performed in the Champ de Mars, and
the trophies of the Egyptian expedition were ex-
ultingly displayed. There were, however, two fea¬
tures in all this pomp and show which seemed
strangely out of keeping with the glittering pa¬
geant and the sounds of victorious rejoicing. The
standards and flags of the army were hung with
crape, and after the grand parade the dignitaries
of the land proceeded solemnly to the Temple of
Mars, and heard the eloquent M. de Fontanes
deliver an “ Eloge Funebre.” ^
^ A report recently discovered shows that more even was in¬
tended than was actually done.
The following is a translation of the paj)er, the original of
which is Nos. 172 and 173 of volume 51 of the manuscript series
known as Etats-Unis, 1799, 1800 (years 7 and 8 of the French
republic) : —
“ Report of Talleyrand^ Minister of Foreign Affairs, on the occasion
of the death of George W ashington,
“ A nation which some day will he a great nation, and which to¬
day is the wisest and happiest on the face of the earth, weeps at
2
INTROD UCTION.
About the same time, if tradition may be trusted,
tbe flags upon the conquering Channel fleet of Eng¬
land were lowered to half-mast in token of grief
the bier of a man whose courage and genius contributed the most to
free it from bondage, and elevate it to the rank of an independent
and sovereign power. The regrets caused by the death of this great
man, the memories aroused by these regrets, and a proper venera¬
tion for all that is held dear and sacred by mankind, impel us to
give expression to our sentiments by taking part in an event
which deprives the world of one of its brightest ornaments, and
removes to the realm of history one of the noblest lives that ever
honored the human race.
“The name of Washington is inseparably linked with a memo¬
rable epoch. He adorned this epoch by his talents and the nobil¬
ity of his character, and with virtues that even envy dared not as¬
sail. History offers few examples of such renown. Great from
the outset of his career, patriotic before his country had become a
nation, brilliant and universal despite the passions and political
resentments that would gladly have checked his career, his fame
is to-day imperishable, — fortune having consecrated his claim
to greatness, while the prosperity of a people destined for grand
achievements is the best evidence of a fame ever to increase.
“His own country now honors his memory with funeral cere¬
monies, having lost a citizen whose public actions and unassuming
grandeur in private life were a living example of courage, wisdom,
and unselfishness ; and France, which from the dawn of the Amer¬
ican Revolution hailed with hope a nation, hitherto unknown, that
was discarding the vices of Europe, which foresaw all the glory
that this nation would bestow on humanity, and the enlightenment
of governments that would ensue from the novel character of the
social institutions and the new type of heroism of which Washing¬
ton and America were models for the world at large, — France, I
repeat, should depart from established usages and do honor to one
whose fame is beyond comparison with that of others.
The man who, amid the decadence of modern ages, first dared
believe that he could inspire degenerate nations with courage to
rise to the level of republican virtues, lived for all nations and for
all centuries ; and this nation, which first saw in the life and success
INTRODUCTION.
3
for the same event which had caused the armies of
France to wear the customary badges of mourning.
If some “ traveller from an antique land” had
observed these manifestations, he would have won¬
dered much whose memory it was that had called
them forth from these two great nations, then
struggling fiercely with each other for supremacy
on land and sea. His wonder would not have
abated had he been told that the man for whom
they mourned had wrested an empire from one, and
at the time of his death was arming his countrymen
against the other.
These signal honors were paid by England and
France to a simple Yirginian gentleman who had
never left his own country, and who when he died
held no other office than the titular command of
a provisional army. Yet although these marks of
respect from foreign nations were notable and
striking, they were slight and formal in comparison
with the silence and grief which fell upon the
people of the United States when they heard that
Washington was dead. He had died in the fullness
of time, quietly, quickly, and in his own house, and
of that illustrious man a foreboding’ of his destiny, and therein
recognized a future to be realized and duties to be performed, has
every right to class liim as a fellow-citizen. I therefore submit to
the First Consul the following decree : —
“ Bonaparte, First Consul of the republic, decrees as follows : —
“ Article 1. A statue is to be erected to General Washinsrton.
“ Article 2. This statue is to be placed in one of the squares of
Paris, to be chosen by the minister of the interior, and it shall be
his duty to execute the present decree.”
4
INTRODUCTION.
yet his death called out a display of grief which
has rarely been equalled in history. The trappings
and suits of woe were there of course, but what
made this mourning memorable was that the land
seemed hushed with sadness, and that the sorrow
dwelt among the people and was neither forced nor
fleeting:. Men carried it home with them to their
firesides and to their churches, to their offices and
their workshops. Every preacher took the life
which had closed as the noblest of texts, and every
orator made it the theme of his loftiest eloquence.
For more than a year the newspapers teemed with
eulogy and elegy, and both prose and poetry were
severely taxed to pay tribute to the memory of the
great one who had gone. The prose was often
stilted and the verse was generally bad, but yet
through it all, from the polished sentences of the
funeral oration to the humble effusions of the ob¬
scurest poet’s corner, there ran a strong and gen¬
uine feeling, which the highest art could not refine
nor the clumsiest fine-writing degrade.
From that time to this, the stream of praise has
flowed on, ever deepening and strengthening, both
at home and abroad. Washington alone in history
seems to have risen so high in the estimation of men
that criticism has shrunk away abashed, and lias
only been heard whispering in corners or growling
hoarsely in the now famous house in Cheyne Row.
There is a world of meaning in all this, could
we but rightly interpret it. It cannot be brushed
aside as mere popular superstition, formed of fan-
INTlWDUCriON.
cies and prejudices, to wliicli intelligent opposition
would be useless. Nothing is in fact more false
than the way in which popular opinions are often
belittled and made light of. The oi)inion of the
w'orld, however reached, becomes in the course of
years or centuries the nearest approach we can
make to final judgment on things human. Don
Quixote may be dumb to one man, and the sonnets
of Shakespeare may leave another cold and weary.
But the fault is in the reader. There is no doubt of
the greatness of Cervantes or Shakespeare, for they
have stood the test of time, and the voices of gener¬
ations of men, from which there is no appeal, have
declared them to be great. The lyrics that all the
world loves and repeats, the poetry which is often
called hackneyed, is on the whole the best poetry.
The pictures and statues that have drawn crowds of
admiring gazers for centuries are the best. The
things that are “ caviare to the general ” often un¬
doubtedly have much merit, but they lack quite as
often the warm, generous, and immortal vitality
which appeals alike to rich and poor, to the igno¬
rant and to the learned.
So it is witli men. When years after his death
the world agrees to call a man great, the verdict
must be accepted. The historian may whiten or
blacken, the critic may weigh and dissect, the form
of the judgment may be altered, but the central fact
remains, and with the man, whom the world in its
vague way has pronounced great, history must reckon
one way or the other, w'hether for good or ill.
6
INTRODUCTION.
When we come to such a man as W ashington,
the case is still stronger. Men seem to have agreed
that here was greatness which no one could ques¬
tion, and character which no one could fail to re¬
spect. Around other leaders of men, even around
the greatest of them, sharp controversies have
arisen, and they have their partisans dead as they
had them living. Washington had enemies who as¬
sailed him, and friends whom he loved, but in death
as in life he seems to stand alone, above conflict and
superior to malice. In his own country there is no
dispute as to his greatness or his worth. English¬
men, the most unsparing censors of everything
American, have paid homage to Washington, from
the days of Fox and Byron to those of Tenny¬
son and Gladstone. In France his name has al¬
ways been revered, and in distant lands those who
have scarcely heard of the existence of the United
States know the country of Washington. To the
mighty cairn which the nation and the states have
raised to his memory, stones have come from
Greece, sending a fragment of the Parthenon ; from
Brazil and Switzerland, Turkey and Japan, Siam
and India beyond the Ganges. On that sent by
China we read: “In devising plans, Washing¬
ton was more decided than Ching Shing or Woo
Kwang ; in winning a country he was braver than
Tsau Tsau or Ling Pi. Wielding his four-footed
falchion, he extended the frontiers and refused to
accept the Royal Dignity. The sentiments of the
Three Dynasties have reappeared in him. Can any
INTRODUCTION.
7
man of ancient or modern times fail to pronounce
Washington peerless ? ” These comparisons so
strange to our ears tell of a fame which has reached
farther than we can readily conceive.
Washington stands as a type, and has stamped
himself deep upon the imagination of mankind.
Whether the image be true or false is of no conse¬
quence : the fact endures. He rises up from the
dust of history as a Greek statue comes pure and
serene from the earth in which it has lain for cen¬
turies. We know his deeds ; but what was it in the
man which has given him such a place in the affec¬
tion, the respect, and the imagination of his fellow-
men throughout the world ?
Perhaps this question has been fully answered
already. Possibly every one who has thought upon
the subject has solved the problem, so that even to
state it is superfluous. Yet a brilliant writer, the
latest historian of the American people, has said :
“ General W ashington is known to us, and Presi¬
dent Washington. But George Washington is an
unknown man.” These are pregnant words, and
that they should be true seems to make any attempt
to fill the great gap an act of sheer and hopeless
audacity. Yet there can be certainly no reason
for adding another to the almost countless lives
of Washington unless it be done with the object
in view which Mr. McMaster indicates. Any such
attempt may fail in execution, but if the purpose
be riglit it has at least an excuse for its existence.
To try to add to the existing knowledge of the
8
INTRODUCTION.
facts in Washington’s career would have but little
result beyond the multiplication of printed j)^gGS.
The antiquarian, the historian, and the critic have
exhausted every source, and the most minute de¬
tails have been and still are the subject of endless
writing and constant discussion. Every house he
ever lived in has been drawn and painted ; every
portrait, and statue, and medal has been catalogued
and engraved. His private affairs, his servants,
his horses, his arms, even his clothes, have all
passed beneath the merciless microscope of history.
His biography has been written and rewritten.
His letters have been drawn out from every lurk¬
ing place, and have been given to the world in
masses and in detachments. His battles have been
fought over and over again, and his state papers
have undergone an almost verbal examination. Yet,
despite his vast fame and all the labors of the an¬
tiquarian and biographer, Washington is still not
understood, — as a man he is unfamiliar to the pos¬
terity that reverences his memory. He has been mis¬
represented more or less covertly by hostile critics
and by candid friends, and has been disguised and
hidden away by the mistaken eulogy and erroneous
theories of devout admirers. All that any one now
can do, therefore, is to endeavor from this mass of
material to depict the very man himself in the vari¬
ous conjunctures of his life, and strive to see what
he really was and what he meant then, and what
he is and what he means to us and to the world
to-day.
INTRODUCTION.
9
Ill the progress of time Washington has become
in the popular imagination largely mythical; for
mythical ideas grow up in this nineteenth century,
notwithstanding its boasted intelligence, much as
they did in the infancy of the race. The old senti¬
ment of humanity, more ancient and more lasting
than any records or monuments, which led men in
the dawn of history to worship their ancestors and
the founders of states, still endures. As the centuries
have gone by, this sentiment has lost its religious
flavor, and has become more and more restricted
in its application, but it has never been wholly ex¬
tinguished. Let some man arise great above the
ordinary bounds of greatness, and the feeling which
caused our progenitors to bow down at the shrines
of their forefathers and chiefs leads us to invest
our modern hero with a mythical character, and
picture him in our imagination as a being to whom,
a few thousand years ago, altars would have been
builded and libations poured out.
Thus we have to-day in our minds a W ashington
grand, solemn, and impressive. In this guise he
appears as a man of lofty intellect, vast moral force,
supremely successful and fortunate, and wholly
apart from and above all his fellow-men. This
lonely figure rises up" to our imagination with all
the imperial splendor of the Livian Augustus, and
with about as much warmth and life as that un¬
rivalled statue. In this vague but quite serious idea
there is a great deal of truth, but not the whole truth.
It is the myth of genuine love and veneration
10
INTRODUCTION.
springing from the inborn gratitude of man to the
founders and chiefs of his race, but it is not by any
means the only one of its family. There is another,
equally diffused, of wholly different parentage. In
its inception this second myth is due to the itin¬
erant parson, bookmaker, and bookseller. Mason
Weems. He wrote a brief biography of Washing¬
ton, of trifling historical value, yet with sufficient
literary skill to make^it widely popular. It neither
appealed to nor was read by the cultivated and in¬
structed few, but it reached the homes of the masses
of the people. It found its way to the bench of the
mechanic, to the house of the farmer, to the log
cabins of the frontiersman and pioneer. It was
carried across the continent on the first waves of
advancing settlement. Its anecdotes and its sim¬
plicity of thought commended it to children both
at home and at school, and, passing through edition
after edition, its statements were widely spread,
and it colored insensibly the ideas of hundreds of
persons who never had heard even the name of the
author. To Weems we owe the anecdote of the
cherry-tree, and other tales of a similar nature.
He wrote with Dr. Beattie’s life of his son before
him as a model, and the result is that M^ashington
comes out in his pages a faultless prig. Whether
Weems intended it or not, that is the result which
he produced, and that is the W^ashington who was
developed from the wide sale of his book. When
this idea took definite and permanent shape it
caused a reaction. There was a revolt against it,
INTRODUCTION.
11
for the hero thus engendered had qualities which
the national sense of humor could not endure in
silence. The consequence is, that the Washington
of Weems has afforded an endless theme for joke
and burlesque. Every professional American hu¬
morist almost has tried his hand at it ; and with
each recurring 22d of February the hard-worked
jesters of the daily newspapers take it up and
make a little fun out of it, sufficient for the da}^
that is passing over them. The opportunity is
tempting, because of the ease with which fun can
be made when that fundamental source of humor, a
violent contrast, can be employed. But there is no
irreverence in it all, for the jest is not aimed at
the real Washington, but at the Washington por¬
trayed in the Weems biography. The worthy “rec¬
tor of Mount Vernon,” as he called himself, meant
no harm, and there is a good deal of truth, no doubt,
in his book. But the blameless and priggish boy,
and the equally faultless and uninteresting man,
whom he originated, have become in the process of
development a myth. So in its further develop¬
ment is the Washington of the humorist a myth.
Both alike are utterly and crudely false. They re¬
semble their great original as much as Greenough’s
classically nude statue, exposed to the incongruities
of the North American climate, resembles in dress
and appearance the general of our armies and the
first President of the United States.
Such are the myth-makers. They are widely dif¬
ferent from the critics who have assailed ashing-
12
INTRODUCTION.
ton in a sidelong way, and who can be better dealt
with in a later chapter. These last bring charges
which can be met : the myth-maker presents a vague
conception, extremely difficult to handle because it
is so elusive.
One of our well-known historical scholars and
most learned antiquarians, not long ago, in an essay
vindicating the “traditional Washington,” treated
with scorn the idea of a “ new Washington” being
discovered. In one sense this is quite right, in
another totally wrong. There can be no new Wash¬
ington discovered, because there never was but one.
But the real man has been so overlaid with myths
and traditions, and so distorted by misleading criti¬
cisms, that, as has already been suggested, he has
been wellnigh lost. W e have the religious or
statuesque myth, we have the Weems myth, and
the ludicrous myth of the writer of paragraphs.
We have the stately hero of Sparks, and Everett,
and Marshall, and Irving, with all his great deeds
as general and president duly recorded and set
down in polished and eloquent sentences ; and we
know him to be very great and wise and pure, and,
be it said with bated breath, very dry and cold.
We are also familiar with the commonplace man
who so wonderfully illustrated the power of char¬
acter as set forth by various persons, either from
love of novelty or because the great chief seemed
to get in the way of their own heroes.
If this is all, then the career of Washington and
his towering fame present a problem of which the
IN TROD UCTION.
13
world has never seen the like. But this cannot be
all: there must be more behind. Every one knows
the famous Stuart portrait of Washington. The
last effort of the artist’s cunning is there employed
to paint his great subject for posterity. How serene
and beautiful it is ! It is a noble picture for future
ages to look upon. Still it is not all. There is in
the dining-room of Memorial Hall at Cambridge
another portrait, painted by Savage. It is cold and
dry, hard enough to serve for the signboard of an
itin, and able, one would think, to withstand all
weathers. Yet this picture has something which
Stuart left out. There is a rugged strength in the
face which gives us pause, there is a massiveness in
the jaw, telling of an iron grip and a relentless
will, which has infinite meaning.
“ Here ’s John the Smith’s rough-hammered head. Great eye,
Gross jaw, and griped lips do what granite can
To give yon the crown-grasper. What a man ! ”
In death as in life, there is something about
Washington, call it greatness, dignity, majesty,
what you will, which seems to hold men aloof and
keep them from knowing him. In truth he was
a most difficult man to know. Carlyle, crying out
through hundreds of pages and myriads of words
for the “ silent man,” passed by with a sneer the
most absolutely silent great man that history can
show. Washington’s letters and speeches and mes¬
sages fill many volumes, but they are all on busi¬
ness. They are profoundly silent as to the writer
himself. From this Carlyle concluded apparently
14
INTRODUCTION.
that there was nothing to tell, — a very shallow con¬
clusion if it was the one he really reached. Such
an idea was certainly far, very far, from the truth.
Behind the popular myths, behind the statuesque
figure of the orator and the preacher, behind the
general and the president of the historian, there
was a strong, vigorous man, in -whose veins ran
warm, red blood, in whose heart were stormy pas¬
sions and deep sympathy for humanity, in whose
brain were far-reaching thoughts, and who was in¬
formed throughout his being with a resistless will.
The veil of his silence is not often lifted, and never
intentionally, but now and then there is a glimpse
behind it ; and in stray sentences and in little inci¬
dents strenuously gathered together ; above all, in
the right interpretation of the words, and the deeds,
and the true history known to all men, — we can
surely find George Washington “the noblest figure
that ever stood in the forefront of a nation’s life.”
GEOEGE WASHIEGTOET.
i
♦
CHAPTER 1.
THE OLD DOMINION.
To know George Washington, we must first of
all know the society in which he was born and
brought up. As certain lilies draw their colors
from the subtle qualities of the soil hidden beneath
the water upon which they float, so are men pro¬
foundly affected by the obscure and insensible in¬
fluences which surround their childhood and youth.
The art of the chemist may discover perhaps the
secret agent which tints the white flower with blue
or pink, but very often the elements, which analysis
detects, nature alone can combine. The analogy
is not strained or fanciful when we apply it to a
past society. We can separate, and classify, and
label the various elements, but to combine them in
such a way as to form a vivid picture is a work of
surpassing difficulty. This is especially true of
such a land as Virginia in the middle of the last
century. Virginian society, as it existed at that
period, is utterly extinct. John Randolph said it
had departed before the year 1800. Since then
10 GEORGE WASHINGTON.
another century, with all its manifold changes, has
wellnigh come and gone. IVIost important of all,
the last surviving institution of colonial Virginia
has been swept away in the crash of civil war,
which has opened a gulf between past and present
wider and deeper than any that time alone could
make.
Life and society as they existed in the Virginia
of the eighteenth century seem, moreover, to have
been sharply broken and ended. We cannot trace
our steps backward, as is possible in most cases, over
the road by which the world has travelled since
those days. We are compelled to take a long leap
mentally in order to land ourselves securely in the
Virginia which honored the second George, and
looked up to Walpole and Pitt as the arbiters of
its fate.
We live in a period of great cities, rapid com¬
munication, vast and varied business interests,
enormous diversity of occupation, great industries,
diffused intelligence, farming by steam, and with
everything and everybody pervaded by an unrest¬
ing, high-strung activity. We transport ourselves
to the Virginia of Washington’s boyhood, and find
a people without cities or towns, with no means of
communication except what was afforded by rivers
and wood roads ; having no trades, no industries,
no means of spreading knowledge, only one occu¬
pation, clumsily performed ; and living a quiet,
monotonous existence, which can now hardly be
realized. It is ‘‘ a far cry to Loch- Awe,” as the
THE OLD DOMINION.
17
Scotch proyerh has it; and this old Virginian soci¬
ety, although we should find it sorry work living in
it, is both pleasant and picturesque in the pages of
The population of Virginia, advancing toward
half a million, and divided pretty equally between
the free whites and the enslaved blacks, was densest,
to use a most inappropriate word, at the water’s
edge and near the mouths of the rivers. Thence
it crept backwards, following always the lines of
the watercourses, and growing ever thinner and
more scattered until it reached the Blue Ridge.
Behind the mountains was the wilderness, haunted,
as old John Lederer said a century earlier, by mon¬
sters, and inhabited, as the eighteenth-century Vir¬
ginians very well knew, by savages and wild beasts,
much more real and dangerous than the hobgob¬
lins of their ancestors.
The population, in proportion to its numbers, was
very widely distributed. It was not collected in
groups, after the fashion with which we are now
familiar, for then there were no cities or towns in
Virginia. The only place which could pretend to
either name was Norfolk, the solitary seaport,
which, with its six or seven thousand inhabitants,
formed the most glaring exception that any rule
solicitous of proof could possibly desire. Wil¬
liamsburg, the capital, was a straggling village,
somewhat overweighted with the public buildings
and those of the college. It would light up into
life and vivacity during the season of politics and
18
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
society, and then relapse again into the country
stillness. Outside of Williamsburg and Norfolk
there were A^arious points which passed in the cata¬
logue and on the map for towns, but which in real¬
ity were merely the shadows of a name. The most
populous consisted of a few houses inhabited
by storekeepers and traders, some tobacco ware¬
houses, and a tavern, clustered about the church or
court-house. Many others had only the church, or,
if a county seat, the church and court-house, keep¬
ing solitary state in the woods. There once a week
the sound of prayer and gossip, or at longer inter¬
vals the voices of lawyers and politicians, and the
shouts of the wrestlers on the green, broke through
the stillness which with the going down of the sun
resumed its sway in the forests.
There was little chance here for that friction
of mind with mind, or for that quick interchange
of thought and sentiment and knowledge which
are familiar to the dwellers in cities, and which
have driven forward more rapidly than all else
what we call civilization. Hare meetings for spe¬
cial objects with persons as solitary in their lives
and as ill-informed as himself, constituted to the
average Virginian the world of society, and there
was nothing from outside to supply the deficiencies
at home. Once a fortnight a mail crawled down
from the North, and once a month another crept on
to the South. George Washington was four years
old when the first newspaper was published in the
colony, and he was twenty when the first actors
THE OLD DOMINION.
19
appeared at Williamsburg. What was not brought
was not sought. The Virginians did not go down
to the sea in ships. They were not a seafaring
race, and as they had neither trade nor commerce
they were totally destitute of the inquiring, enter¬
prising spirit, and of the knowledge brought by
those pursuits which involve travel and adventure.
The English tobacco-ships worked their way up the
rivers, taking the great staple, and leaving their
varied goods, and their tardy news from Europe,
wherever they stopped. This was the sum of the
information and intercourse which Virginia got
from across the sea, for travellers were practically
unknown. Few came on business, fewer still from
curiosity. Stray peddlers from the North, or trap¬
pers from beyond the mountains with their packs
of furs, chiefly constituted what would now be
called the travelling public. There were in truth
no means of travelling except on foot, on horse¬
back, or by boat on the rivers, which formed the
best and most expeditious highways. Stage-coaches,
or other public conveyances, were unknown. Over
some of the roads the rich man, with his six horses
and black outriders, might make his way in a lum¬
bering carriage, but most of the roads were little
better than woodland paths ; and the rivers, inno¬
cent of bridges, offered in the uncertain fords
abundance of inconvenience, not unmixed with
peril. The taverns were execrable, and only the
ever-ready hospitality of the people made it pos¬
sible to get from place to place, The result was
20
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
that the Virginians stayed at home, and sought
and welcomed the rare stranger at their gates as if
they were well aware that they were entertaining
angels.
It is not difficult to sift this home-keeping peo¬
ple, and find out that portion which was Virginia,
for the mass was but an appendage of the small
fraction which ruled, led, and did the thinking
for the whole community. Half the people were
slaves, and in that single wretched word their his¬
tory is told. They were, on the whole, well and
kindly treated, but they have no meaning in history
except as an institution, and as an influence in the
lives, feelings, and character of the men who made
the state.
Above the slaves, little better than they, but sep¬
arated from them by the wide gulf of race and
color, were the indented white servants, some con¬
victs, some redemptioners. They, too, have their
story told when we have catalogued them. We
cross another gulf and come to the farmers, to the
men who grew wheat as well as tobacco on their
own land, sometimes working alone, sometimes the
owners of a few slaves. Some of these men were
of the class well known since as the “ poor whites ”
of the South, the weaker brothers who could not
resist the poison of slavery, but sank under it into
ignorance and poverty. They were contented be¬
cause their skins were white, and because they were
thereby part of an aristocracy to whom labor was
a badge of serfdom. The larger portion of this
THE OLD DOMINION.
21
middle class, however, were thrifty and industrious
I enough. Including as they did in their ranks the
' hunters and pioneers, the traders and merchants,
all the freemen in fact who toiled and worked, they
formed the mass of the white population, and fur¬
nished' the bone and sinew and some of the intel¬
lectual power of Virginia. The only professional
men were the clergy, for the lawyers were few, and
growing to importance only as the Revolution be¬
gan ; while the physicians were still fewer, and as
a class of no importance at all. The clergy were
a picturesque element in the social landscape, but
I they were as a body very poor representatives of
learning, religion, and morality. They ranged from
[ hedge parsons and Fleet chaplains, who had slunk
away from England to find a desirable obscurity in
the new world, to divines of real learning and gen-
I nine piety, who were the supporters of the college,
I and who would have been a credit to any society.
These last, however, were lamentably few in num¬
ber. The mass of the clergy were men who worked
their own lands, sold tobacco, were the boon com¬
panions of the planters, hunted, shot, drank hard,
and lived well, performing their sacred duties in a
perfunctory and not always in a decent manner.
The clergy, however, formed the stepping-stone
socially between the farmers, traders, and small
planters, and the highest and most important class
in Virginian society. The great planters were the
men who owned, ruled, and guided Virginia. Their
vast estates were scattered along the rivers from
22
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
tlie seacoast to the mountains. Each plantation
was in itself a small village, with the owner’s
house in the centre, surrounded by outbuildings and
negro cabins, and the pastures, meadows, and fields
of tobacco stretching away on all sides. The rare
traveller, pursuing bis devious way on horseback or
in a boat, would catch sight of these noble estates
opening up from the road or the river, and then the
forest would close in around him for several miles,
until through the thinning trees he would see again
the white cabins and the cleared fields of the next
plantation.
In such places dwelt the Virginian planters, sur¬
rounded by their families and slaves, and in a soli¬
tude broken only by the infrequent and eagerly
welcomed stranger, by their duties as vestrymen
and magistrates, or by the annual pilgrimage to
Williamsburg in search of society, or to sit in the
House of Burgesses. They were occupied by the
care of their plantations, which involv^ed a good deal
of riding in the open air, but which was at best an
easy and indolent pursuit made light by slave labor
and trained overseers. As a result the planters had
an abundance of spare time, which they devoted to
cock-fighting, horse-racing, fishing, shooting, and
fox - hunting, — all, save the first, wholesome and
manly sports, but which did not demand any undue
mental strain. There is, indeed, no indication
that the Virginians had any great love for intellect¬
ual exertion. When the amiable attorney-general
of Charles II. said to the Virginian commission-
THE OLD DOMINION.
23
ers, pleading the cause of learning and religion,
“ Damn your souls ! grow tobacco ! ” he uttered a
precept which the mass of the planters seem to
have laid to heart. For fifty years there were no
schools, and down to the Revolution even the apol¬
ogies bearing that honored name were few, and the
college was small and struggling. In some of the
great families, the eldest sons would be sent to Eng¬
land and to the great universities : they would make
the grand tour, play a part in the fashionable soci¬
ety of London, and come back to their plantations
fine gentlemen and scholars. Such was Colonel
Byrd, in the early part of the eighteenth century,
a friend of the Earl of Orrery, and the author of
certain amusing memoirs. Such at a later day was
Arthur Lee, doctor and diplomat, student and poli¬
tician. But most of these young gentlemen thus
sent abroad to improve their minds and manners
led a life not materially different from that of our
charming friend, Harry Warrington, after his arri¬
val in England.
The sons who stayed at home sometimes gathered
a little learning from the clergyman of the parish,
or received a fair education at the College of Wil¬
liam and Mary, but very many did not have even
so much as this. There was not in truth much use
for learning in managing a plantation or raising
horses, and men get along surprisingly well with
what they do not need, especially if the acquisition
demands labor. The Virginian planter thought
little and read less, and there were no learned pro-
24
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
fessions to hold out golden prizes and stimulate
the love of knowledge. The women fared even
worse, for they could not go to Europe or to Wil¬
liam and Mary’s, so that after exhausting the teach¬
ing capacity of the parson they settled down to a
round of household duties and to the cares of a
multitude of slaves, working much harder and
more steadily than their lords and masters ever
thought of doing.
The only general form of intellectual exertion
was that of governing. The planters managed local
affairs through the vestries, and ruled Virginia in
the House of Burgesses. To this work they paid
strict attention, and, after the fashion of their race,
did it very well and very efficiently. They were an
extremely competent body whenever they made up
their minds to do anything ; but they liked the life
and habits of Squire Western, and saw no reason
for adopting any others until it was necessary.
There were, of course, vast differences in the
condition of the planters. Some counted their
acres by thousands and their slaves by hundreds,
while others scrambled along as best they might
with one plantation and a few score of negroes.
Some dwelt in very handsome houses, picturesque
and beautiful, like Gunston Hall or Stratford, or
in vast, tasteless, and extravagant piles like Bose-
well. Others were contented with very modest
houses, consisting of one story with a gabled roof,
and flanked by two massive chimneys. In some
houses there was a brave show of handsome plate
THE OLD DOMINION.
25
and china, fine furniture, and London-made car¬
riages, rich silks and satins, and brocaded dresses.
In others there was earthenware and pewter, home-
spun and woollen, and little use for horses except in
the plough or under the saddle.
But there were certain qualities common to all
the Virginia planters. The luxury was imperfect.
The splendor was sometimes barbaric. There were
holes in the brocades, and the fresh air of heaven
would often blow through a broken window upon
the glittering silver and the costly china. It was
an easy-going aristocracy, unfinished, and frequently
slovenly in its appointments, after the fashion of
the warmer climates and the regions of slavery.
Everything was plentiful except ready money.
In this riclr and poor were alike. They were all
ahead of their income, and it seems as if, from one
cause or another, from extravagance or improvi¬
dence, from horses or the gaming-table, every Vir¬
ginian family went through bankruptcy about once
in a generation.
When Harry Warrington arrived in England,
all his relations at Castlewood regarded the hand¬
some young fellow as a prince, with his acres and
his slaves. It was a natural and pleasing delusion,
born of the possession of land and serfs, to which
the Virginians themselves gave ready credence.
They forgot that the land was so plentiful that it
was of little value ; that slaves were the most waste¬
ful form of labor ; and that a failure of the tobacco
crop, pledged before it was gathered, meant ruin,
26
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
althougli they had been reminded more than once
of this last impressive fact. They knew that they
had plenty to eat and drink, and a herd of people
to wait upon them and cultivate their land, as
well as obliging London merchants always ready
to furnish every luxury in return for the mortgage
of a crop or an estate. So they gave themselves
little anxiety as to the future and lived in the
present, very much to their own satisfaction.
To the communities of trade and commerce, to
the mercantile and industrial spirit of to-day, such
an existence and such modes of life appear distress¬
ingly lax and unprogressive. The sages of the
bank parlors and the counting-rooms would shake
their heads at such spendthrifts as these, refuse to
discount their paper, and confidently predict that
by no possibility could they come to good. They
had their defects, no doubt, these planters and farm¬
ers of Virginia. The life they led was strongly
developed on the animal side, and was perhaps
neither stimulating nor elevating. The living was
the reverse of plain, and the thinking was neither
extremely high nor notably laborious. Yet in
this very particular there is something rather rest¬
ful and pleasant to the eye wearied by the sight of
incessant movement, and to the ear deafened by the
continual shout that nothing is good that does not
change, and that all change must be good. We
should probably find great discomforts and many
unpleasant limitations in the life and habits of a
hundred years ago on any part of the globe, and yet
THE OLD DOMINION.
27
at a time wlien it seems as if rapidity and move¬
ment were the last words and the ultimate ideals of
civilization, it is rather agreeable to turn to such
a community as the eighteenth-century planters of
Virginia. They lived contentedly on the acres of
their fathers, and except at rare and stated inter¬
vals they had no other interests than those fur¬
nished by their ancestral domain. At the court¬
house or the vestry, or at Williamsburg, they met
their neighbors and talked very keenly about the
politics of Europe, or the affairs of the colony.
They were little troubled about religion, but they
worshipped after the fashion of their fathers,
and had a serious fidelity to church and king.
They wrangled with their governors over appropri¬
ations, but they lived on good terms with those emi¬
nent persons, and attended state balls at what they
called the palace, and danced and made merry
with much stateliness and grace. Their every-day
life ran on in the quiet of their plantations as
calmly as one of their own rivers, The English
trader would come and go ; the infrequent stranger
would be received and welcomed ; Christmas would
be kept in hearty English fashion; young men
from a neighboring estate would ride over through
the darkening woods to court, or dance, or play the
fiddle, like Patrick Henry or Thomas Jefferson ;
and these simple events were all that made a ripple
on the placid stream. Much time was given to
sports, rough, hearty, manly sports, with a spice of
danger, and these, with an occasional adventurous
28
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
dash into the wilderness, kept them sound and
strong and brave, both in body and mind. There
was nothing languid or effeminate about the Vir¬
ginian planter. He was a robust man, quite ready
to fio^ht or work when the time came, and well fitted
to deal with affairs when he was needed. He was
a free-handed, hospitable, generous being, not much
given to study or thought, but thoroughly public-
spirited and keenly alive to the interests of Vir¬
ginia. Above all things he was an aristocrat, set
apart by the dark line of race, color, and heredi¬
tary servitude, as proud as the proudest Austrian
with his endless quarterings, as sturdy and vigor¬
ous as an English yeoman, and as jealous of his
rights and privileges as any baron who stood by
John at Runny mede. To this aristocracy, careless
and indolent, given to rough pleasures and indif¬
ferent to the finer and higher sides of life, the call
came, as it comes to all men sooner or later, and in
response they gave their country soldiers, states¬
men, and jurists of the highest order, and fit for
the great work they were asked to do. W e must
go back to Athens to find another instance of a so¬
ciety so small in numbers, and yet capable of such
an outburst of ability and force. They were of
sound English stock, with a slight admixture of the
Huguenot, the best blood of France ; and although
for a century and a half they had seemed to stag¬
nate in the New World, they were strong and fruit¬
ful and effective beyond the measure of ordinary
races when the hour of peril and trial was at hand.
CHAPTER II.
THE WASHINGTONS.
Such was the world and such the community
which counted as a small fraction the W^ashington
family. Our immediate concern is with that family,
for before we approach the man we must know his
ancestors. The greatest leader of scientific thought
in this century has come to the aid of the genealo¬
gist, and given to the results of the latter’s some¬
what discredited labors a vitality and meaning
which it seemed impossible that dry and dusty
pedigrees and barren tables of descent should ever
possess. We have always selected our race-horses
according to the doctrines of evolution, and we
now study the character of a great man by examin¬
ing first the history of his forefathers.
Washington made so great an impression upon
the world in his lifetime that genealogists at once
undertook for him the construction of a suitable
pedigree. The excellent Sir Isaac Heard, garter
king-at-arms, worked out a genealogy which seemed
reasonable enough, and then wrote to the president
in relation to it. W ashington in reply thanked him
for his politeness, sent him the Virginian genealogy
of his own branch, and after expressing a courteous
30
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
interest said, in his simple and direct fashion, that
he had been a busy man and had paid but little
attention to the subject. His knowledge about his
English forefathers was in fact extremely slight.
He had heard merely that the first of the name in
Virginia had come from one of the northern coun-
ties of England, but whether from Lancashire or
Yorkshire, or one still more northerly, he could not
tell. Sir Isaac was not thoroughly satisfied with
the correctness of his own work, but presently
Baker took it up in his history of Northampton¬
shire, and perfected it to his own satisfaction and
that of the world in general. This genealogy de¬
rived Washington’s descent from the owners of the
manor of Sulgrave, in Northamptonshire, and thence
carried it back to the Norman knight. Sir Wil¬
liam de Hertburn. According to this pedigree the
Virginian settlers, John and Lawrence, were the
sons of Lawrence Washington of Sulgrave Manor,
and this genealogy was adopted by Sparks and
Irving, as well as by the public at large. Twenty
years ago, however. Colonel Chester, by his re¬
searches, broke beyond repair the most essential
link in the chain forged by Heard and Baker,
proving clearly that the Virginian settlers could
not have been the sons of Lawrence of Sulgrave,
as identified by the garter king-at-arms. Still
more recently the mythical spirit has taken violent
possession of the Washington ancestry, and an in¬
genious gentleman has traced the pedigree of our
first president back to Thorfinn and thence to Odin,
THE WASHINGTONS.
31
which is sufficiently remote, dignified, and lofty to
satisfy the most exacting Welshman that ever lived.
Still the breach made by Colonel Chester has not
been repaired, although many writers, including
some who should know better, cling with undimin¬
ished faith to the Heard pedigree. It is known
that Colonel Chester himself believed that he had
found the true line, coming, it is supposed, through
a younger branch of the Sulgrave race, but he died
before he had discovered the one bit of evidence
necessary to prove an essential step, and he was
too conscientiously accurate to leave anything to
conjecture.
Thus we are left with no certain knowledge of
Washington’s forefathers beyond the Virginian
settlers, John and Lawrence. There can be, how¬
ever, little doubt that the two emigrants came of
the Sulgrave stock, although the exact connection
has not been established. The identity of arms
and of Christian names seems to prove them scions
of that race, and the failure to connect them with
any other family of the name in England corrobo¬
rates this theory.^ In that interesting land where
1 Colonel Chester {N. E. Historical Register, voL xxi., 1867,
p. 25) lays stress on the president’s statement that his ancestor
was said to come from Lancashire or Yorkshire, or some more
northerly county, and seems to imply that this, excluding' as it
does Northamptonshire, makes against the identity of Sir Isaac
Heard’s John Washington with the Virginian emigrant. I have
found a little evidence on this subject which seems to have been
hitherto unnoticed, and which tends to show that the Virginia
emigrants were not from the northerly counties. The well-known
account of the Baconian troubles, written by Mrs. Ann. Cotton in
32
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
evGrytliing, according to our narrow ideas, is upside
down, it is customary, when an individual arrives
at distinction, to confer nobility upon his ancestors
instead of his children. The ashingtons offer
an interesting example of the application of this
Chinese system in the W estern world, for, if they
have not been actually ennobled in recognition of
the deeds of their great descendant, they have at
least become the subjects of intense and general in¬
terest. Every one of the name who could be dis¬
covered anywhere has been dragged forth into the
light, and has had all that was known about him
duly recorded and set down. By scanning family
trees and pedigrees, and picking up stray bits of
information here and there, we can learn in a rude
and general fashion what manner of men those
were who claimed descent from William of Hert-
burn, and who bore the name of Washington in
the mother-country. As Mr. Galton passes a hun¬
dred faces before the same highly sensitized plate,
and gets a photograph which is a likeness of no one
1676 (Force’s Hist. Tracts, i.), is addressed “to Mr. C. H., at
Yardly, in Northamptonshire,” probably Yardly-Hastings, about
eight miles from Northampton, and consequently very near Sul-
grave Manor. At the beginning (p. 1) the writer refers to the com¬
mander of the Virginians in the first campaign against the Indians
as “one Colonel Washington (him whom you have sometimes seen
at your house).” This suggests very strongly that John Washing¬
ton, the first Virginian of the name, was of Northamptonshire,
and that he came from, or lived in the neighborhood of, Sulgrave
Manor, and therefore belonged to that family. Had he lived all
his life in Yorkshire it is not probable that Mr. C. H. would have
seen him much at his house in Yardly.
THE WASHINGTONS.
33
of his subjects, and yet resembles them all, so we
I may turn the camera of history upon these Wash¬
ingtons, as they flash up for a moment from the
dim past, and hope to get what Professor Huxley .
calls a “ generic ” picture of the race, even if the
outlines be somewhat blurred and indistinct.
! Ill the North of England, in the region conquered
first by Saxons and then by Danes, lies the little
village of Washington. It came into the possession
of Sir William de Hertburn, and belonged to him
at the time of the Bolden Book in 1183. Soon
after, he or his descendants took the name of De
Wessyngton, and there they remained for two
centuries, knights of the palatinate, holding their
lands by a military tenure, fighting in all the wars,
and taking part in tournaments with becoming
splendor. By the beginning of the fifteenth cen¬
tury the line of feudal knights of the palatinate
was extinct, and the manor passed from the family
by the marriage of Dionisia de Wessyngton. ut
the main stock had in the mean time thrown out
many offshoots, which had taken firm root in other
parts of England. We hear of several who came
in various ways to eminence. There was the learned
and vigorous prior of Durham, J ohn De Wessyng¬
ton, probably one of the original family, and the
name appears in various places after his time in
records and on monuments, indicating a flourishing
and increasing race. Lawrence Washington, in the
sixteenth century, was the mayor of Northampton,
and received from King Henry VIII. the manor of
34
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Sulgrave in 1538. In the next century we find
traces of Robert Washington of the Ad wick family,
a rich merchant of Leeds, and of his son Joseph
Washington, a learned lawyer and author, of Gray’s
Inn. About the same time we hear of Richard
Washington and Philip Washington holding high
places at University College, Oxford. The Sulgrave
branch, however, was the most numerous and pros¬
perous. Prom the mayor of Northampton were
descended Sir William Washington, who married
the half-sister of George Villiers, Duke of Bucking¬
ham; Sir Henry Washington, who made a desper¬
ate defence of Worcester against the forces of the
Parliament in 1646 ; Lieutenant - Colonel J ames
Washington, who fell at the siege of Pontefract,
fighting for King Charles ; another J ames, of a
later time, who was implicated in Monmouth’s re¬
bellion, fled to Holland and became the progenitor
of a flourishing and successful family, which has
spread to Germany and there been ennobled ; Sir
Lawrence Washington, of Garsdon, whose grand¬
daughter married Robert Shirley, Baron Ferrers ;
and others of less note, but all men of property and
standing. They seem to have been a successful,
thrifty race, owning lands and estates, wise magis¬
trates and good soldiers, marrying well, and in¬
creasing their wealth and strength from generation
to generation. They were of Norman stock, knights
and gentlemen in the full sense of the word before
the French Revolution, and we can detect in them
here and there a marked strain of the old Norse
THE WASHINGTONS.
35
blood, carrying with it across the centuries the wild
Berserker spirit which made the adventurous North¬
men for centuries the terror of Europe. They were
a strong race evidently, these Washingtons, whom
we see now only by glimpses through the mists of
time, not brilliant apparently, never winning the
very highest fortune, having their failures and re¬
verses no doubt, but on the whole prudent, bold
men, always important in their several stations,
ready to fight and ready to work, and as a rule
successful in that which they set themselves to do.
In 1658 the two brothers, John and Lawrence,
appeared in Virginia. They seem to have been
men of substance, for they purchased lands and
established ^themselves at Bridges Creek, in West¬
moreland County. With this brief statement, Law¬
rence disappears, leaving us nothing further than
the knowledge that he had numerous descendants.
John, with whom we are more concerned, figures
at once in the colonial records of Maryland. He
made complaint to the Maryland authorities, soon
after his arrival, against Edward Prescott, mer¬
chant, and captain of the ship in which he had come
over, for hanging a woman during the voyage for
witchcraft. We have a letter of his, explaining that
he could not appear at the first trial because he was
about to baptize his son, and had bidden the neigh¬
bors and gossips to the feast. A little incident
this, dug out of the musty records, but it shows us
an active, generous man, intolerant of oppression,
public-spirited and hospitable, social, and friendly
36 GEORGE WASHINGTON.
in Ills new relations. He soon after was called to
mourn the death of his English wife and of two
children, but he speedily consoled himself by taking
a second wife, Anne Pope, by whom he had three
children, Lawrence, John, and Anne. According
to the Virginian tradition, John Washington the
elder was a surveyor, and made a location of lands
which was set aside because they had been assigned
to the Indians. It is quite apparent that he was
a forehanded person who acquired proj)erty and
impressed himself upon his neighbors. In 1667,
when he had been but ten years in the colony, he
was chosen to the House of Burgesses ; and eight
years later he was made a colonel an^ sent with
a thousand men to join the Marylanders in destroy¬
ing the “ Susquehannocks,” at the “ Piscataway ”
fort, on account of some murdering begun by an¬
other tribe. As a feat of arms, the expedition
was not a very brilliant affair. The Virginians
and Marylanders killed half a dozen Indian chiefs
during a parley, and then invested the fort. After
repulsing several sorties, they stupidly allowed the
Indians to escape in the night and carry murder
and pillage through the outlying settlements, light¬
ing up first the flames of savage war and then
the fiercer fire of domestic insurrection. In the
next year we hear again of John Washington in
the House of Burgesses, when Sir William Berke¬
ley assailed his troops for the murder of the Indians
during the parley. Popular feeling, however, was
clearly with the colonel, for nothing was done and
THE WASHINGTONS.
37
the matter dropped. At that point, too, in 1676,
John Washington disappears from sight, and we
know only that as his will was proved in 1677, he
must have died soon after the scene with Berkeley.
He was buried in the family vault at Bridges
Creek, and left a good estate to be divided among
his children. The colonel was evidently both a
prudent and popular man, and quite disposed to
bustle about in the world in which he found him¬
self. He acquired lands, came to the front at once
as a leader although a new-comer in the country,
was Evidently a fighting man as is shown by his
selection to command the Virginian forces, and was
honored by his neighbors, who gave his name to
the parish in which he dwelt. Then he died and
his son Lawrence reigned in his stead, and became
by his wife, Mildred Warner, the father of John,
Augustine and Mildred M ashington.
This second son, Augustine, farmer and planter
like his forefathers, married first Jane Butler, by
whom he had three sons and a daughter, and sec¬
ond, Mary Ball, by whom he had four sons and two
daughters. The eldest child of these second nup¬
tials was named George, and was born on Feb¬
ruary 11 (^O. S.), 1732, at Bridges Creek. The
house in which this event occurred was a plain,
wooden farmhouse of the primitive Virginian pat¬
tern, with four rooms on the ground floor, an attic
story with a long, sloping roof, and a massive brick
chimney. Three years after George M ashinglon s
birth it was burned, and the family removed to
38
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
another estate in Stafford County. The second
house was like the first, and stood on rising ground
looking across a meadow to the Eappahannock,
and beyond the river to the village of Fredericks¬
burg, which was nearly opposite. Here, in 1743,
Augustine Washington died somewhat suddenly, at
the age of forty-nine, from an attack of gout
brought on by exposure in the rain, and was bur¬
ied with his fathers in the old vault at Bridges
Creek. Here, too, the boyhood of Washington
was passed, and therefore it becomes necessary to
look about us and see what we can learn of this
important period of his life.
We know nothing about his father, except that
he was kindly and affectionate, attached to his wife
and children, and apjDarently absorbed in the care
of his estates. On his death the children came
wholly under the maternal influence and direction.
Much has been written about the “ mother of Wash¬
ington,” but as a matter of fact, although she lived
to an advanced age, we know scarcely more about
her than we do about her husband. She was of gen¬
tle birth, and possessed a vigorous character and a
good deal of business capacity. The advantages of
education were given in but slight measure to the
Virginian ladies of her time, and Mrs. Washing¬
ton offered no exception to the general rule. Her
reading was confined to a small number of volumes,
chiefly of a devotional character, her favorite appar¬
ently being Hale’s “ Moral and Divine Contempla¬
tions.” She evidently knew no language but her
THE WASHINGTONS.
39
own, and lier spelling was extremely bad even in
that age of uncertain orthography. Certain quali¬
ties, however, are clear to us even now through all
the dimness. We can see that Mary Washington
was gifted with strong sense, and had the power
of conducting business matters providently and ex¬
actly. She was an imperious woman, of strong will,
ruling her kingdom alone. Above all she was very
dignified, very silent, and very sober-minded. That
she was affectionate and loving cannot be doubted,
for she retained to the last a profound hold upon
the reverential devotion of her son, and yet as he
rose steadily to the pinnacle of human greatness,
she could only say that “ George had been^a good
boy, and she was sure he would do his duty. Not
a brilliant woman evidently, not one suited to shine
in courts, conduct intrigues, or adorn literature, yet
able to transmit moral qualities to her oldest son,
which, mingled with those of the Washingtons, were
of infinite value in the foundation of a great Ee-
public. She found herself a widow at an early age,
with a family of young children to educate and
support. Her means were narrow, for although
Augustine Washington was able to leave what was
called a landed estate to each son, it was little more
than idle capital, and the income in ready money
was by no means so evident as the acres.
Many are the myths, and deplorably few the
facts, that have come down to us in regard to
Washington’s boyhood. For the former we are
indebted to the illustrious Weems, and to that per-
40
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
sonage a few more words must be devoted. Weems
has been held up to the present age in various ways,
usually, it must be confessed, of an unflattering
nature, and “ mendacious ” is the adjective most
commonly applied to him. There has been in
reality a good deal of needless confusion about
Weems and his book, for he was not a complex
character, and neither he nor his writings are difli-
cult to value or understand. By profession a clergy¬
man or preacher, by nature an adventurer, Weems
loved notoriety, money, and a wandering life. So
he wrote books which he correctly believed would
be popular, and sold them not only through the
regular channels, but by peddling them himself as
he travelled through the country. In this way he
gratified all his propensities, and no doubt derived
from life a good deal of simple pleasure. Chance
brought him near Washington in the closing days,
and his commercial instinct told him that here was
the subject of all others for his pen and his mar¬
ket. He accordingly produced the biography which
had so much success. Judged solely as literature,
the book is beneath contempt. The style is turgid,
overloaded, and at times silly. The statements are
loose, the mode of narration confused and incohe¬
rent, and the moralizing is flat and commonplace
to the last decree. Yet there was a certain sin-
cerity of feeling underneath all the bombast and
platitudes, and this saved the book. The biography
did not go, and was not intended to go, into the
hands of the polite society of the great eastern
THE WASHINGTONS.
41
towns. It was meant for the farmers, the pioneers,
and the backwoodsmen of the country. It went
into their homes, and passed with them beyond the
Alleglianies and out to the plains and valleys of
the great West. The very defects of the book
helped it to success among the simple, hard-work¬
ing, hard-fighting race engaged in the conquest of
the American continent. To them its heavy and
tawdry style, its staring morals, and its real patri¬
otism aU seemed eminently befitting the national
hero, and thus Weems created the Washington of
the popular fancy. The idea grew up with the
country, and became so ingrained in the popular
thought that finally everybody was affected by
it, and even the most stately and solemn of the
Washington biographers adopted the unsupported
tales of the itinerant parson and book-peddler.
In regard to the public life of Washington,
Weems took the facts known to every one, and
drawn for the most part from the gazettes. He
then dressed them up in his own peculiar fashion
and gave them to the world. AU this, forming of
course nine tenths of his book, has passed, despite
its success, into oblivion. The remaining tenth
described Washington’s boyhood until his four¬
teenth or fifteenth year, and this, which is the work
of the author’s imagination, has lived. Weems,
having set himself up as absolutely the only author¬
ity as to this period, has been implicitly follovyed,
and has thus come to demand serious consideration.
Until Weems is weighed and disposed of, we can-
42
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
not even begin an attempt to get at the real Wash=
ington.
Weems was not a cold-blooded liar, a mere forger
of anecdotes. He was simply a man destitute of
historical sense, training, or morals, ready to take
the slenderest fact and work it up for the purposes
of the market until it became almost as impossible
to reduce it to its original dimensions as it was for
the fisherman to get the Afrit back into his jar.
In a word, Weems was an approved mythmaker.
No better example can be given than the way in
which he described himself. It is believed that he
preached once, and possibly oftener, to a congrega¬
tion which numbered Washington among its mem¬
bers. ^ Thereupon he published himself in his book
as the rector of Mount Yernon parish. There was,
to begin with, no such parish. There was Truro
parish, in which was a church called indifferently
Pohick or Mount Yernon church. Of this church
Washington was a vestryman until 1785, when he
joined the church at Alexandria. The Rev. Lee
Massey was the clergyman of the Mount Yernon
church, and the church at Alexandria had nothina*
to do with Mount Yernon. There never was, more¬
over, such a person as the rector of Mount Yernon
parish, but it was the Weems way of treating his
appearance before the great man, and of deceiving
the world with the notion of an intimac^y which the
title implied.
Weems, of course, had no difficulty with the
public life, but in describing the boyhood he was
TEE WASHINGTONS.
thrown on his own resources, and out of them he
evolved the cherry-tree, the refusal to fight or per¬
mit fighting among the hoys at school, and the
initials in the garden. This last story is to the
effect that Augustine Washington planted seeds in
such a manner that when they sprouted they formed
on the earth the initials of his son’s name, and the
boy being much delighted thereby, the father ex¬
plained to him that it was the work of the Creator,
and thus inculcated a profound belief God.
This tale is taken bodily from Dr. Beattie’s bio¬
graphical sketch of his son, published in England
in 1799, and may be dismissed at once. As to the
other two more familiar anecdotes there is not a
scintilla of evidence that they had any foundation,
and with them may be included the colt story, told
by Mr. Custis, a simple variation of the cherry-tree
theme, which is Washington’s early love of truth.
Weems says that his stories were told him by a
lady, and “ a good old gentleman,” who remem¬
bered the incidents, while Mr. Custis gives no au¬
thority for his minute account of a trivial event
over a century old when he wrote. To a writer
who invented the rector of Mount Vernon, the fur¬
ther invention of a couple of Boswells would be a
trifle. I say Boswells advisedly, for these stories
are told with the utmost minuteness, and the con¬
versations between Washington and his
given as if from a stenographic report. How ^ r.
Custis, usually so accurate, came to be so tar in-
fected with the AVeems myth as to tell the colt story
44
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
after the Weems manner, cannot now be deter¬
mined. There can be no doubt that Washington,
like most healthy boys, got into a good deal of mis¬
chief, and it is not at all impossible that he injured
fruit-trees and confessed that he had done so. It
may be accepted as certain that he rode and mas¬
tered many unbroken thoroughbred colts, and it
is possible that one of them burst a blood-vessel in
the process and died, and that the boy promj)tly
told his mother of the accident. But this is the
utmost credit which these two anecdotes can claim.
Even so much as this cannot be said of certain other
improving tales of like nature. That Washington
lectured his playmates on the wickedness of fight¬
ing, and in the year 1754 allowed himself to be
knocked down in the presence of his soldiers, and
thereupon begged his assailant’s pardon for having
spoken roughly to him, are stories so silly and so
foolishly impossible that they do not deserve an
instant’s consideration.
There is nothing intrinsically impossible in either
the cherry-tree or the colt incident, nor would there
be in a hundred others which might be readily
invented. The real point is that these stories, as
told by Weems and Mr. Custis, are on their face
hopelessly and ridiculously false. They are so, not
merely because they have no vestige of evidence to
support them, but because they are in every word
and line the offspring of a period more than fifty
years later. No English-speaking people, certainly
no Virginians, ever thought or behaved or talked in
THE WASHINGTONS.
45
1740 like the personages in Weems’s stories, what¬
ever they may have done in 1790, or at the begin¬
ning of the next century. These precious anecdotes
belong to the age of Miss Edgeworth and Hannah
More and Jane Taylor. They are engaging speci¬
mens of the “ Harry and Lucy ” and “ Purple Jar ”
morality, and accurately reflect the pale didacticism
which became fashionable in England at the close
of the last century. They are as untrue to nature
and to fact at the period to which they are assigned
as would be efforts to depict Augustine W ashington
and his wife in the dress of the Erench revolution
discussing the propriety of worshipping the God¬
dess of Reason.
To enter into any serious historical criticism of
these stories would be to break a butterfly. So
much as this even has been said only because these
wretched fables have gone throughout the world,
and it is time that they were swept away into the
dust-heaps of history. They represent Mr. and
Mrs. W^ashington as affected and priggish people,
given to cheap moralizing, and, what is far worse,
they have served to place Washington himself in
a ridiculous light to an age which has outgrown
the educational foibles of seventy-five years ago.
Augustine W ashington and his wife were a gentle¬
man and lady of the eighteenth century, living in
Virginia. So far as we know without guessing or
conjecture, they were simple, honest, and straight¬
forward, devoted to the care of their family and
estate, and doing their duty sensibly and after the
46 GEORGE WASHINGTON,
fashion of their time. Their son, to whom the
greatest wrong has been done, not only never did
anything common or mean, but from the begin¬
ning to the end of his life he was never for an in-
stant ridiculous or affected, and he was as utterly
removed from canting or priggishness as any hu¬
man being could well be. Let us therefore consign
the Weems stories and their offspring to the limbo
of historical rubbish, and try to learn what the
plain facts tell us of the boy Washington.
Unfortunately these same facts are at first very
few, so few that they tell us hardly anything. W e
know when and where W ashington was born ; and
how, when he was little more than three years old,
he was taken from Bridges Creek to the banks of
the Bappahannock, There he was placed under the
charge of one Hobby, the sexton of the parish, to
learn his alphabet and his pothooks ; and when
that worthy man’s store of learning was exhausted
he was sent back to Bridges Creek, soon after his
father’s death, to live with his half-brother Augus¬
tine, and obtain the benefits of a school kept by a
Mr. Williams. There he received what would now
be called a fair common-school education, wholly
destitute of any instruction in languages, ancient
or modern, but apparently with some mathematical
training.
That he studied faithfully cannot be doubted,
and we know, too, that he matured early, and was
a tall, active, and muscular boy. He could outwalk
and outrun and outride any of his companions.
THE WASHINGTONS. 47
As he could no doubt have thrashed any of them
too, he was, in virtue of these qualities, which are
respected everywhere by all wholesome minds, and
especially by boys, a leader among his school-fel¬
lows. We know further that he was honest and
true, and a lad of unusual promise, not because of
the goody-goody anecdotes of the myth-makers, but
because he was liked and trusted by such men as
his brother Lawrence and Lord Fairfax.
There he was, at all events, in his fourteenth
year, a big, strong, hearty boy, offering a serious
problem to his mother, who was struggling along
with many acres, little money, and five children.
Mrs. Washington’s chief desire naturally was to
put George in the way of getting a living, which
no doubt seemed far more important than getting
an education, and, as he was a sober-minded boy,
the same idea was probably profoundly impressed
on his own mind also. This condition of domestic
affairs led to the first attempt to give Washington
a start in life, which has been given to us until
very lately in a somewhat decorated form. The
fact is, that in casting about for something to do, it
occurred to some one, very likely to the boy him¬
self, that it would be a fine idea to go to sea. His
masculine friends and relatives urged the scheme
upon Mrs. Washington, who consented very reluc¬
tantly, if at all, not liking the notion of parting
with her oldest son, even in her anxiety to have
him earn his bread. When it came to the point,
however, she finally decided against his going, de-
48
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
termined probably by a very sensible letter from
her brother, Joseph Ball, an English lawyer. In
all the ornamented versions we are informed that
the boy was to enter the royal navy, and that a mid¬
shipman’s warrant was procured for him. There
does not appear to be any valid authority for the
royal navy, the warrant, or the midshipman. The
contemporary Virginian letters speak simply of
‘‘going to sea,” while Mr. Ball says distinctly that
the plan was to enter the boy on a tobacco shij),
with an excellent chance of being pressed on a man-
of-war, and a very faint prospect of either getting
into the navy, or even rising to be the captain of
one of the petty trading-vessels familiar to Vir¬
ginian planters. Some recent writers have put Mr.
Ball aside as not knowing what was intended in
regard to his nephew, but in view of the difficulty
at that time of obtaining commissions in the navy
without great political influence, it seems probable
that Mrs. Washington’s brother knew very well
what he was talking about, and he certainly wrote
a very sensible letter. A bold, adventurous boy,
eager to earn his living and make his way in the
world, would, like many others before him, look
longingly to the sea as the highway to fortune and
success. To Washington the romance of the sea
was represented by the tobacco ship creeping up
the river and bringing all the luxuries and many of
the necessaries of life from vaguely distant coun¬
tries. No doubt he wished to go on one of these
vessels and try his luck, and very possibly the royal
THE WASHINGTONS.
49
navy was hoped for as the ultimate result. The
effort was certainly made to send him to sea, but it
failed, and he went back to school to study more
mathematics.
Apart from the fact that the exact sciences in
moderate degree were about all that Mr. Williams
could teach, this branch of learning had an imme¬
diate practical value, inasmuch as surveying was
almost the only immediately gainful pursuit open
to a young Virginia gentleman, who sorely needed
a little ready money that he might buy slaves and
work a plantation. So Washington studied on for
two years more, and fitted himself to be a surveyor.
There are still extant some early papers belonging
to this period, chiefly fragments of school exercises,
which show that he already wrote the bold, hand¬
some hand with which the world was to become
familiar, and that he made geometrical figures and
notes of surveys with the neatness and accuracy
which clung to him in all the work of his life,
whether great or small. Among those papers too
were found many copies of legal forms, and a set of
rules, over a hundred in number, as to etiquette and
behavior, carefully written out. It has always been
supposed that these rules were copied, but it was
reserved apparently for the storms of a mighty
civil war to lay bare the original source. At that
time a little volume was found in Virginia bearing
the name of George Washington in a boyish hand
on the flyleaf, and the date 1742. The book was
entitled, “ The Young Man’s Companion.” It was
50 GEORGE WASHINGTON.
an English work, and had passed through thirteen
editions, which was little enough in view of its
varied and extensive information. It was written
by W. Mather, in a plain and easy style, and
treated of arithmetic, surveying, forms for legal
documents, the measuring of land and lumber, gar¬
dening, and many other useful topics, and at the
end it contained the rules for behavior found in
manuscript among Washington’s papers.^ These
rules were in the main wise and sensible, and it
is evident they made a deep impression on the
boy’s mind.2 There is something strangely pro¬
phetic about these little aphorisms, for all the seri¬
ous rules are very characteristic of Washington
throughout his life. What, for example, could be
more apt than the last one, given by Mr. Sparks :
“ Labor to keep alive in your breast that little
spark of celestial fire called conscience.” To sup¬
pose that Washington’s character was formed by
these sententious bits of not very profound wisdom
would be absurd ; but that a series of rules which
most lads would have regarded as simply dull
should have been pondered by this boy indicates
a soberness and strength of mind which certainly
are not usual at that age. The one thought that
runs through all the sayings is to practise self-
^ An account o£ tliis volume was given in the New York
Tribune in 1866, and also in the Historical Magazine (x. 47). It
is stated that the hook was presented to General Grant, and, if
so, it has now passed into the keeping of the government.
^ The most important are given in Sparks’ W ritings of
Washington^ ii. 412.
THE WASHINGTONS.
51
control, and no man ever displayed that most
difficult of virtues to such a degree as George
Washington. It was no ordinary boy who took
such a lesson as this to heart before he was fif¬
teen, and carried it into his daily life, never to he
forgotten. It may also be said that very few boys
ever needed it more ; but those persons who know
what they chiefly need, and pursue it, are by no
means common.
CHAPTER HI.
ON THE FKONTIER.
While Washington was working his way
through the learning purveyed by Mr. Williams,
he was also receiving another education, of a
much broader and better sort, from the men and
women among whom he found himself, and with
whom he made friends. Chief among them was his
eldest brother, Lawrence, fourteen years his senior,
who had been educated in England, had fought
with Vernon at Carthagena, and had then re¬
turned to Virginia, to be to him a generous father
and a loving friend. As the head of the family,
Lawrence Washington had received the lion’s
share of the property, including the estate at
Hunting Creek, on the Potomac, which he chris¬
tened Mount Vernon, after his admiral, and where
he settled down and built him a goodly house.
To this pleasant spot George Washington jour¬
neyed often in vacation time, and there he came to
live and further pursue his studies, after leaving-
school in the autumn of 1747.
Lawrence Washington had married the daugh¬
ter of William Fairfax, the proprietor of Belvoir, a
neighboring plantation, and the agent for the vast
ON THE FRONTIER.
63
estates lield by his family in Virginia. George
Fairfax, Mrs. V^ashington s brother, had mairied
a Miss Carey, and thus two large and agreeable
family connections were thrown open to the young
surveyor when he emerged from school. The chief
figure, however, in that pleasant winter of 1747-48,
so far as an influence upon the character of IVash-
ington is concerned, was the head of the family
into which Lawrence Washington had married.
Thomas Lord Fairfax, then sixty years of age, had
come to Virginia to live upon and look after the
kingdom which he had inherited in the wilderness.
He came of a noble and distinguished race. Grad¬
uating at Oxford with credit, he served in the army,
dabbled in literature, had his fling in the London
world, and was jilted by a beauty who preferred a
duke, and gave her faithful but less titled lover an
apparently incurable wound. His life having been
thus early twisted and set awry. Lord Fairfax,
when well past his prime, had determined finally
to come to Virginia, bury himself in the forests,
and look after the almost limitless possessions
beyond the Blue Ridge, which he had inherited
from his maternal grandfather. Lord Culpeper, of
unsavory Restoration memory. It was a piece of
great good-fortune which threw in M ashington s
path this accomplished gentleman, familiar with
courts and camps, disappointed, but not morose,
disillusioned, but still kindly and generous. From
him the boy could gain that knowledge of men and
manners which no school can give, and which is
54
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
/
as important in its way as any that a teacher can
impart.
Lord Fairfax and Washington became fast
friends. They hunted the fox together, and
hunted him hard. They engaged in all the rough
sports and perilous excitements that Virginia win¬
ter life could afford, and the boy’s bold and skilful
riding, his love of sports and his fine temper,
commended him to the warm and affectionate in¬
terest of the old nobleman. Other qualities, too,
the experienced man of the world saw in his young
companion : a high and persistent courage, robust
and calm sense, and, above all, unusual force of
will and character. Washington impressed pro¬
foundly everybody with whom he was brought into
personal contact, a fact which is one of the most
marked features of his character and career, and
one which deserves study more than almost any
other. Lord Fairfax was no exception to the rule.
He saw in Washington not simply a promising,
brave, open-hearted boy, diligent in practising his
profession, and whom he was anxious to help, but
something more ; something which so impressed
him that he confided to this lad a task which, ac¬
cording to its performance, would affect both his
fortune and his peace. In a word, he trusted
Washington, and told him, as the spring of 1748
was opening, to go forth and survey the vast Fair¬
fax estates beyond the Fidge, define their boun¬
daries, and save them from future litigation.
With this commission from Lord Fairfax, Wash-
ON THE FRONTIER.
55
' ington entered on the first period of liis career.
He passed it on the frontier, fighting nature, the
Indians, and the French. He went in a schoolboy ;
he came out the first soldier in the colonies, and
one of the leading men of Virginia. Let us pause
a moment and look at him as he stands on the
threshold of this momentous period, rightly called
momentous because it was the formative period in
the life of such a man.
He had just passed his sixteenth birthday. He
was tall and muscular, approaching the stature of
more than six feet which he afterwards attained.
He was not yet filled out to manly proportions, but
was rather spare, after the fashion of youth. He
had a well-shaped, active figure, symmetrical ex¬
cept for the unusual length of the arms, indicating
uncommon strength. His light brown hair was
drawn back from a broad forehead, and grayish-
blue eyes looked happily, and perhaps a trifle so¬
berly, on the pleasant Virginia world about him.
The face was open and manly, with a square, mas¬
sive jaw, and a general expression of calmness and
strength. ‘‘Fair and florid,” big and strong, he
was, take him for all in all, as fine a specimen of
his race as could be found in the English colonies.
Let us look a little closer through the keen eyes
of one who studied many faces to good purpose.
The great painter of portraits, Gilbert Stuart, tells
us of Washington that he never saw in any man
such large eye-sockets, or such a breadth of nose
and forehead between the eyes, and that he read
56
GEORGE WASHTNGTON.
tliere the evidences of the strongest passions pos¬
sible to human nature. John Bernard the actor, a
good observer, too, saw in Washington’s face, in
1797, the signs of an habitual conflict and mastery
of passions, witnessed by the compressed mouth
and deeply indented brow. The problem had been
solved then; but in 1748, passion and will alike
slumbered, and no man could tell which would pre¬
vail, or whether they would work together to great
purpose or go jarring on to nothingness. He rises
up to us out of the past in that early sjDringtime a
fine, handsome, athletic boy, beloved by those about
him, who found him a charming companion and
did not guess that he might be a terribly dangerous
foe. He rises up instinct with life and strength, a
being capable, as we know, of great things whether
for good or evil, with hot blood pulsing in his veins
and beating in his heart, with violent passions and
relentless will still undeveloped, and no one in all
that jolly, generous Virginian society even dimly
dreamed what that development would be, or what
it would mean to the world.
It was in March, 1748, that George Fairfax and
Washington set forth on their adventures, and
passing through Ashley’s Gap in the Blue Bidge,
entered the valley of Virginia. Thence they worked
their way up the valley of the Shenandoah, survey¬
ing as they went, returned and swam the swollen
Potomac, surveyed the lands about its south branch
and in the mountainous region of Frederick County,
and finally reached Mount Vernon again on April
ON THE FRONTIER.
57
12 til. It was a rough experience for a beginner,
but a wholesome one, and furnished the usual vicis¬
situdes of frontier life. They were wet and cold
and hungry, or warm and dry and well fed, by
turns. They slept in a tent, or the huts of the scat¬
tered settlers, and oftener still beneath the sta,rs.
They met a war party of Indians, and having plied
them with liquor, watched one of their mad dances
round the camp-fire. In another place they came
on a straggling settlement of Oermans, dull, pa¬
tient, and illiterate, strangely unfit for the life of
the wilderness. All these things, as ^ well as the
progress of their work and their various resting-
places, Washington noted down briefly but method¬
ically in a diary, showing in these rough notes the
first evidences of that keen observation of nature
and men and daily incidents which he developed to
such good purpose in after-life. There are no
rhapsodies and no reflections in these hasty jottings,
but the employments and the discomforts are all
set down in a simple and matter-of-fact way, which
omitted no essential thing and excluded all that
was worthless. His work, too, was well done, and
Lord Fairfax was so much pleased by the report
that he moved across the Blue Kidge, built a hunt¬
ing lodge preparatory to something more splendid
which never came to pass, and laid out a noble
manor, to which he gave the name of Greenway
Court. He also procured for Washington an ap¬
pointment as a public surveyor, which conferred
authority on his surveys and provided him with
58
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
regular work. Thus started, Washington toiled at
his profession for three years, living and working as
he did on his first expedition. It was a rough life,
but a manly and robust one, and the men who live
it, although often rude and coarse, are never weak
or effeminate. To W^ashington it was an admirable
school. It strengthened his muscles and hardened
him to exposure and fatigue. It accustomed him
to risks and perils of various kinds, and made him
fertile in expedients and confident of himself, while
the nature of his work rendered him careful and
industrious. That his work was well done is shown
by the fact that his surveys were considered of the
first authority, and stand unquestioned to this day,
like certain other work which he was subsequently
called to do. It was part of his character, when he
did anything, to do it in a lasting fashion, and it is
worth while to remember that the surveys he made
as a boy were the best that could be made.
He wrote to a friend at this time : “ Since you
received my letter of October last, I have not slept
above three or four nights in a bed, but, after
walking a good deal all the day, I have lain down
before the fire upon a little hay, straw, fodder, or a
bearskin, whichever was to be had, with man, wife,
and children, like dogs and cats ; and happy is he
who g’ets the berth nearest the fire. Nothing would
make it pass off tolerably but a good reward. A.
doubloon is my constant gain every day that the
weather will permit of my going out, and sometimes
six pistoles.” He was evidently a thrifty lad, and
ON THE FRONTIER.
69
honestly pleased with honest earnings. He was no
mere adventurous wanderer, but a man working
for results in money, reputation, or some solid
value, and while he worked and earned he kept an
observant eye upon the wilderness, and bought up
when he could the best land for himself and his
family, laying the foundations of the great landed
estate of which he died possessed.
There was also a lighter and pleasanter side to
this hard-working existence, which was quite as
useful, and more attractive, than toiling in the
woods and mountains. The young surveyor passed
much of his time at Greenway Court, hunting the
fox and rejoicing in all field sports which held high
place in that kingdom, while at the sa,me tune he
profited much in graver fashion by his friendship
with such a man as Lord Fairfax. There, too, he
had a chance at a library, and his diaries show that
he read carefully the history of England and the
essays of the “ Spectator.” Neither in. early days
nor at any other time was he a student, for he had
few opportunities, and his life from the beginning
was out of doors and among men. But the idea
sometimes put forward that Washington cared
nothing for reading or for books is an idle one.
He read at Greenway Court and everywhere else
when he had a chance, and he read well and to
some purpose, studying men and events in books as
he did in the world, and though he never talked ot
his reading, preserving silence on that as on other
things concerning himself, no one ever was able
60
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
to record an instance in which he showed himself
ignorant of history or of literature. He was never
a learned man, but so far as his own lane-uacre
could carry him he was an educated one. Thus
while he developed the sterner qualities by hard
work and a rough life, he did not bring back the
coarse habits of the backwoods and the camp-fire,
but was able to refine his manners and improve his
mind in the excellent society and under the hospi¬
table roof of Lord Fairfax.
Three years slipped by, and then a domestic
change came which much affected TFashington’s
whole life. The Carthagena campaign had under¬
mined the strength of Lawrence Washington and
sown the seeds of consumption, which showed itself
in 1749, and became steadily more alarming. A
voyage to England and a summer at the warm
springs were tried without success, and finally, as a
last resort, the invalid sailed for the West Indies,
in September, 1751. Thither his brother Georc-e
O
accompanied him, and we have the fragments of a
diary kept during this first and last wandering out¬
side his native country. He copied the log, noted
the weather, and evidently strove to get some idea
of nautical matters while he was at sea and leadino*
a life strangely unfamiliar to a woodsman and
pioneer. When they arrived they were imme¬
diately asked to breakfast and dine with Major
Clarke, the military magnate of the place, and our
young Virginian remarked, with characteristic
prudence and a certain touch of grim humor, “ We
ON THE FRONTIER,
61
went, — myself with some reluctance, as the small¬
pox was in the family.” He fell a victim to his
good manners, for two weeks later he was “ strongly
attacked with the smallpox,” and was then housed
for a month, getting safely and successfully through
this dangerous and then almost universal ordeal.
Before the disease declared itself, however, he went
about everywhere, innocently scattering infection,
and greatly enjoying the pleasures of the island.
It is to be regretted that any part of this diary
should have been lost, for it is pleasant reading, and
exhibits the writer in an agreeable and characteris¬
tic fashion. He commented on the country and
the scenery, inveighed against the extravagance of
the charges for board and lodging, told of his din¬
ner-parties and his friends, and noted the marvel¬
ous abundance and variety of the tropical fruits,
which contrasted strangely with the British dishes
of beefsteak and tripe. He also mentioned being
treated to a ticket to see the play of “ George Barn¬
well,” on which he offered this cautious criticism :
“ The character of Barnwell and several others
were said to be well performed. There was music
adapted and regularly conducted.
Soon after his recovery Washington returned to
Virginia, arriving there in February, 1752. The
diary concluded with a brief but perfectly effective
description of Barbadoes, touching on its resources
and scenery, its government and condition, and the
manners and customs of its inhabitants. All
through these notes we find the keenly observant
62
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
spirit, and tlie evidence of a mind constantly alert
to learn. We see also a pleasant, happy tempera¬
ment, enjoying with hearty zest all the pleasures
that youth and life could furnish. He who wrote
these lines was evidently a vigorous, good-hu¬
mored young fellow, with a quick eye for the world
opening before him, and for the delights as well as
the instruction which it offered.
From the sunshine and ease of this tropical win¬
ter Washington passed to a long season of trial
and responsibility at home and abroad. In July,
1752, his much-loved brother Lawrence died, leav¬
ing George guardian of his daughter, and heir to
his estates in the event of that daughter’s death.
Thus the current of his home life changed, and re¬
sponsibility came into it, while outside the mighty
stream of public events changed too, and swept
him along in the swelling torrent of a world-wide
war.
In all the vast wilderness beyond the mountains
there was not room for both French and English.
The rival nations had been for years slowly ap¬
proaching each other, until in 1749 each people
proceeded at last to take possession of the Ohio
country after its own fashion. The French sent a
military expedition which sank and nailed up
leaden plates ; the English formed a great land
company to speculate and make money, and both
set diligently to work to make Indian alliances. A
man of far less perception than Lawrence Wash¬
ington, who had become the chief manager of the
ON THE FRONTIER.
63
Ollio Company, would have seen that the conditions
on the frontier rendered war inevitable, and he ac-
cordinsrly made ready for the future by preparing
his brother for the career of a soldier, so tar as it
could be done. He brought to Mount Vernon two
old companions-in-arms of the Carthagena time.
Adjutant Muse, a Virginian, and Jacob Van
Braani, a Dutch soldier of fortune. The former
instructed Washington in the art of war, tactics,
and the manual of arms, the latter in fencing and
the sword exercise. At the same time Lawrence
Washington procured for his brother, then only
nineteen years of age, an appointment as one of
the adjiitants-general of Virginia, with the rank of
major. To all this the young surveyor took kindly
enough so far as we can tell, but his military avo¬
cations were interrupted by his voyage to Barba-
does, by the illness and death of his brother, and
by the cares and responsibilities thereby thrust
upon him.
Meantime the French aggressions had continued,
and French soldiers and traders were working their
way up from the South and down from the North,
bullying and cajoling the Indians by turns, taking
possession of the Ohio country, and selecting
places as they went for that chain of forts which
was to hem in and slowly strangle the English set¬
tlements. Governor Dinwiddle had sent a com¬
missioner to remonstrate against these encioach-
ments, but his envoy had stopped a hundred and
fifty miles short of the I rench posts, alarmed by
64
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the troublous condition of things, and by the de¬
feat and slaughter which the Frenchmen had al¬
ready inflicted upon the Indians. Some more vig¬
orous person was evidently needed to go through
the form of warning France not to trespass on
the English wilderness and thereupon Governor
Einwiddie selected for the task George F'Tashing-
ton, recently reappointed adjutant-general of the
northern division, and major in the Firginian
forces. He was a young man for such an under¬
taking, not yet twenty-two, but clearly of good
reputation. It is plain enough that Lord Fairfax
and others had said to the governor, “ Here is the
very man for you ; young, daring, and adventur¬
ous, but yet sober-minded and responsible, who
only lacks opportunity to show the stuff that is in
him.”
Thus, then, in October, 1753, Washington set
forth with Van BVaam, and various servants and
horses, accompanied by the boldest of Virginian
frontiersmen, Christopher Gist. He wrote a re¬
port in the form of a journal, which was sent to
England and much read at the time as part of
the news of the day, and which has an equal
although different interest now. It is a succinct,
clear, and sober narrative. The little part}^ was
formed at V^ilFs Creek, and thence through w^oods
and over swollen rivers made its way to Logs-
town. Here they spent some days among the In¬
dians, whose leaders Washington got within his
gras]) after much speech-making ; and here, too,
ON THE FRONTIER.
65
he met some French deserters from the South, and
drew from them all the knowledge they possessed
of New Orleans and the military expeditions from
that region. From Logstown he pushed on, ac¬
companied by his Indian chiefs, to Venango, on
the Ohio, the first French outpost. The French
officers asked him to sup with them. The wine
flowed freely, the tongues of the hosts were loos¬
ened, and the young Virginian, temperate and
hard-headed, listened to all the conversation, and
noted down mentally much that was interesting
and valuable. The next morning the Indian chiefs,
prudently kept in the background, appeared, and
a struggle ensued between the talkative, clever
Frenchmen and the quiet, persistent Virginian,
over the possession of these important savages.
Finally Washington got off, carrying his chiefs
with him, and made his way seventy miles fur¬
ther to the fort on French Creek. Here he deliv¬
ered the governor’s letter, and while M. de St.
Pierre wrote a vague and polite answer, he sketched
the fort and informed himself in regard to the mil¬
itary condition of the post. Then came another
struggle over the Indians, and finally Washington
got off with them once more, and worked his way
back to Venango. Another struggle ior the sav¬
ages followed, rum being always the principal fac¬
tor in the negotiation, and at last the chiefs deter¬
mined to stay behind. Nevertheless, the work had
been well done, and the important Half-King re¬
mained true to the English cause.
66
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
LeaviDg liis liorses, Washington and Gist then
took to the woods on foot. The French Indians
lay in wait for them and tried to murder them, and
Gist, like a true frontiersman, was for shooting the
scoundrel whom they captured. But Washington
stayed his hand, and they gave the savage the slip
and pressed on. It was the middle of December
and cold and stormy. In crossing a river, Wash¬
ington fell from the raft into deep water, amid the
floating ice, but fought his way out, and he and his
companion passed the night on an island, with
their clothes frozen upon them. So througli peril
and privation, and various dangers, stoj^ping in the
midst of it all to win another savage potentate,
they reached the edge of the settlements and thence
went on to I\ illiamsburg, where g’reat praise and
glory were awarded to the youthful envoy, the hero
of the hour in the little Virginia capital.
It is worth while to pause over this expedition a
moment and to consider attentively this journal
which recounts it, for there are very few incidents
or documents which tell us more of Washington.
He was not yet twenty-two when he faced this first
grave responsibility, and he did his work absolutely
well. Cool courage, of course, he showed, but also
patience and wisdom in handling the Indians, a
clear sense that the crafty and well-trained French¬
men could not blind, and a strong faculty for deal¬
ing with men, always a rare and precious gift. As
in the little Barbadoes diary, so also in this journal,
we see, and far more strongly, the penetration and
ON THE FRONTIER.
67
perception that nothing could escape, and which set
down all things essential and let the “ huddling
silver, little worth,” go by. The clearness, terse¬
ness, and entire sufficiency of the narrative are
obvious and lie on the surface ; but we find also
another quality of the man which is one of the most
marked features in his character, and one which
we must dwell upon again and again, as we follow
the story of his life. Here it is that we learn di¬
rectly for the first time that Washington was a
profoundly silent man. The gospel of silence has
been preached in these latter days by Carlyle, with
the fervor of a seer and prophet, and the world
owes him a debt for the historical discredit which
he has brought upon the man of words as com¬
pared with the man of deeds. Carlyle brushed
Washington aside as “ a bloodless Cromwell,” a
phrase to which we must revert later on other
grounds, and, as has already been said, failed ut¬
terly to see tliat he was the most supremely silent
of the great men of action that the world can
show. Like Cromwell and Frederic, Washington
wrote countless letters, made many speeches, and
was ao’reeable in conversation. But this was all
O
in the way of business, and a man may be pro¬
foundly silent and yet talk a great deal. Silence
in the fine and true sense is neither mere holding
of the tongue nor an incapacity of expression. The
greatly silent man is he who is not given to words
for their own sake, and who never talks about him¬
self. Both Cromwell, greatest of Englishmen, and
68
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the great Frederic, Carlyle’s especial heroes, were
fond of talking of themselves. So in still larger
measure was Napoleon, and many others of less im¬
portance. But Washington differs from them all.
He had abundant power of words, and could use
them with much force and point when he was so
minded, but he never used them needlessly or to
hide his meaning, and he never talked about him¬
self. Hence the inestimable difficulty of knowing
him. A brief sentence here and there, a rare
gleam of light across the page of a letter, is all
that we can find. The rest is silence. He did as
great work as has fallen to the lot of man, he wrote
volumes of correspondence, he talked with innumer¬
able men and women, and of himself he said noth¬
ing. Here in this youthful journal we have a
narrative of wild adventure, wily diplomacy, and
personal peril, impossible of condensation, and yet
not a word of the writer’s thoughts or feelings.
All that was done or said important to the business
in hand was set down, and nothing was overlooked,
but that is all. The work was done, and we know
how it was done, but the man is silent as to all
else. Here, indeed, is the man of action and of real
silence, a character to be much admired and won¬
dered at in these or any other days.
Washington’s report looked like war, and its au¬
thor was shortly afterwards appointed lieutenant-
colonel of a Virginian regiment. Colonel Fry com¬
manding. Now began that long experience of
human stupidity and inefficiency with which W ash-
ON THE FRONTIER.
69
ingtoii was destined to struggle tlirough all tlie
years of his military career, suffering from them,
and triumphing in spite of them to a degree un¬
equalled by any other great commander. Din¬
widdle, the Scotch governor, was eager enough to
fight, and full of energy and good intentions, but
he was hasty and not overwise, and was filled with
an excessive idea of his prerogatives. ^ The as¬
sembly, on its side, was sufficiently patriotic, but its
members came from a community which for more
than half a century had had no fighting, and they
knew nothing of war or its necessities. Unaccus¬
tomed to the large affairs into which they were
suddenly plunged, they displayed a narrow and
provincial spirit. Keenly alive to their own rights
and privileges, they were more occupied in quar¬
relling with Dinwiddle than in prosecuting the war.
In the weak proprietary governments of Mainland
and Pennsylvania there was the same condition of
affairs, with every evil exaggerated tenfold. The
fighting spirit was dominant in Virginia, but in
Q^iaker-ridden Pennsylvania it seems to have been
almost extinct. These three were not very prom-
isino- communities to look to for support in a diffi-
cult and costly war.
With all this inertia and stupidity Washington
was called to cope, and he rebelled against it in
vigorous fashion. Leaving Colonel Fry to follow
with the main body of troops, Washington set out
on April 2, 1754, with two companies from Alex¬
andria, where he had been recruiting amidst most
70
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
irritating difficulties. He reached Will’s Creek
three weeks later ; and then his real troubles began.
Captain Trent, the timid and halting envoy, who
had failed to reach the French, had been sent out
by the wise authorities to build a fort at the junc¬
tion of the Alleghany and Monongahela, on the
admirable site selected by the keen eye of Wash-
ino’ton. There Trent left his men and returned to
Will’s Creek, where Washington found him, but
without the pack-horses that he had promised to
provide. Presently news came that the French
in overwhelming numbers had swept down upon
Trent’s little party, captured their fort, and sent
them packing back to Virginia. Washington took
this to be war, and determined at once to march
against the enemy. Having impressed from the
inhabitants, who were not bubbling over with pa¬
triotism, some horses and wagons, he set out on his
toilsome march across the mountains.
It was a wild and desolate region, and progress
was extremely slow. By May 9th he was at the
Little Meadows, twenty miles from his starting-
plaee ; by the 18th at the Youghiogany River, which
he explored and found unnavigable. He was there¬
fore forced to take up his weary march again for the
Monongahela, and by the 27th he was at the Great
Meadows, a few miles further on. The extreme
danger of his position does not seem to have oc¬
curred to him, but he was harassed and angered by
the conduct of the assembly. He wrote to Governor
Dinwiddle that he had no idea of giving up his
ON THE FRONTIER.
71
commission. “But,” he continued, “let me serve
voluntarily ; then I will, with the greatest pleasure
in life, devote my services to the expedition, with¬
out any other reward than the satisfaction of serv¬
ing my country ; but to be slaving dangerously for
the shadow of pay, through woods, rocks, moun¬
tains, — I would rather prefer the great toil of a
daily laborer, and dig for a maintenance, provided
I were reduced to the necessity, than serve upon
such ignoble terms ; for I really do not see why
the lives ol his Majesty’s subjects in Virginia should
be of less value than those in other parts of his
American dominions, especially when it is well
known that we must undergo double their hard¬
ship.” Here we have a high-spirited, high-tem¬
pered young gentleman, with a contempt for shams
that it is pleasant to see, and evidently endowed
also with a fine taste for fighting and not too much
patience.
Indignant letters written in vigorous language
were, however, of little avail, and Washington
prepared to shift for himself as best he might. His
Indian allies brought him news that the French
were on the march and had thrown out scouting
parties. Picking out a place in the Great Meadows
for a fort, “ a charming field for an encounter, he
in his turn sent out a scouting party, and then on
fresh intelligence from the Indians set forth him¬
self with forty men to find the enemy. After a
toilsome march they discovered their foes in camp.
The French, surprised and surrounded, sprang to
72
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
arms, the Virginians fired, there was a sharp ex¬
change of shots, and all was over. Ten of the
French were killed and twenty-one were taken pris¬
oners, only one of the party escaping to carry back
the news.
This little skirmish made a prodigious noise in
its day, and was much heralded in France. The
French declared that Jumonville, the leader, who
fell at the first fire, was foully assassinated, and
that he and his party were ambassadors and sacred
characters. Paris rang with this fresh instance of
British perfidy, and a M. Thomas celebrated the
luckless Jumonville in a solemn epic poem in four
_ •
books. French historians, relying on the account
of the Canadian who escaped, adopted the same
tone, and at a later day mourned over this black
spot on Washington’s character. The French view
was simple nonsense. Jumonville and his party,
as the papers found on Jumonville showed, were
out on a spying and scouting expedition, They
were seeking to surprise the English when the Eng¬
lish surprised them, with the usual backwoods re¬
sult. The affair has a dramatic interest because
it was the first blood shed in a great struggle, and
was the beginning of a series of world-wide wars
and social and political convulsions, which termi¬
nated more than half a century later on the plains
of Waterloo. It gave immortality to an obscure
French officer by linking his name with that of his
opponent, and brought W ashington for the moment
before the eyes of the world, which little dreamed
ON THE FRONTIER.
73
that this Virginian colonel was destined to be one
of the principal figures in the great revolutionary
drama to which the war then beginning was hut
the prologue.
Washington, well satisfied with his exploit, re¬
traced his steps, and having sent his prisoners back
to Virginia, proceeded to consider his situation.
It was not a very cheerful prospect. Contrecoeur,
with the main body of the French and Indians, was
moving down from the Monongahela a thousand
strong. This of course was to have been anticipated,
and it does not seem to have in the least damped
Washington’s spirits. His blood was up, his fight¬
ing temper thoroughly roused, and he prepared to
push on. Colonel Fry had died meanwhile, leav¬
ing Washington in command ; but his troops came
forward, and also not long after a useless inde¬
pendent ” company from South Carolina. Thus re¬
inforced Washington advanced painfully some thir¬
teen miles, and then receiving sure intelligence of
the approach of the French in great force fell back
with difficulty to the Great Meadows, where he was
obliged by the exhausted condition of his men to
stop. He at once resumed work on Fort Necessity,
and made ready for a desperate defence, for the
French were on his heels, and on July 3d appeared
at the Meadows. Washington offered battle out¬
side the fort, and this being declined withdrew to
his trenches, and skirmishing went on all day.
When night fell it was apparent that the end had
come. The men were starved and worn-out. Their
74
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
muskets in many cases were rendered useless by
tbe rain, and their ammunition was spent. The
Indians had deserted, and the foe outnumbered
them four to one. When the French therefore of¬
fered a parley, Washington was forced reluctantly
to accept. The French had no stomach for the
fight, apparently, and allowed the English to go
with their arms, exacting nothing but a pledge that
for a year they would not come to the Ohio.
So ended Washington’s first campaign. His
friend the Half-King, the celebrated Seneca chief,
Thanacarishon, who prudently departed on the ar¬
rival of the French, has left us a candid opinion
of Washington and his opponents. “ The colonel,”
he said, “ was a good-natured man, but had no
experience ; he took upon him to command the
Indians as his slaves, and would have them every
day upon the scout and to attack the enemy by
themselves, but would by no means take advice
from the Indians. He lay in one place from one
full moon to the other, without making any forti¬
fications, except that little thing on the meadow ;
whereas, had he taken advice, and built such forti¬
fications as I advised him, he might easil}’- have
beat off the French. But the French in the en¬
gagement acted like cowards, and the English like
fools.” 1
There is a deal of truth in this opinion. The
^ Enquiry into the Causes and Alienations of the Delaivare and
Shawanee Indians^ etc. London, 1759. By Charles Thomson,
afterwards Secretary of Congress.
ON THE FRONTIER.
75
whole expedition was rash in the extreme. When
Washington left Will’s Creek he was aware that
he was going to meet a force of a thousand men
with only a hundred and fifty raw recruits at his
back. In the same spirit he pushed on ; and after
the Jumonville affair, although he knew that the
wilderness about him was swarming with enemies,,
he still struggled forward. W^hen forced to retreat
he made a stand at the Meadows and offered bat¬
tle in the open to his more numerous and more
prudent foes, for he was one of those men who by
nature regard courage as a substitute for everything,
and who have a contempt for hostile odds. He was
ready to meet any number of French and Indians
with cheerful confidence and with real pleasure.
He wrote, in a letter which soon became famous,
that he loved to hear bullets whistle, a sage obser¬
vation which he set down in later years as a folly
of youth. Yet this boyish outburst, foolish as it
was, has a meaning to us, for it was essentially
true. Washington had the fierce fighting temper
of the Northmen. He loved battle and danger, and
he never ceased to love them and to give way to
their excitement, although he did not again set
down such sentiments in boastful phrase that made
the world laugh. Men of such temper, moreover,
are naturally imperious and have a fine disregard
of consequences, with the result that their allies,
Indian or otherwise, often become impatient and
finally useless. The campaign was perfectly wild
from the outset, and if it had not been for the utter
76
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
/
indifference to danger displayed by Washington,
and the consequent timidity of the French, that
particular body of Virginians would have been per¬
manently lost to the British Empire.
But we learn from all this many things. It ap¬
pears that Washington was not merely a brave man,
but one who loved fighting for its own sake. The
whole expedition shows an arbitrary temper and
the most reckless courage, valuable qualities, but
here unrestrained, and mixed with very little pru¬
dence. Some important lessons were learned by
Washington from the rough teachings of inexora¬
ble and unconquerable facts. He received in this
campaign the first taste of that severe experience
which by its training developed the self-control and
mastery of temper for which he became so remark¬
able. He did not spring into life a perfect and
impossible man, as is so often represented. On the
contrary, he was educated by circumstances ; but the
metal came out of the furnace of experience finely
tempered, because it was by nature of the best and
with but little dross to be purged away. In addi¬
tion to all this he acquired for the moment what
would now be called a European reputation. He
was known in Paris as an assassin, and in Eng¬
land, thanks to the bullet letter, as a “fanfaron ”
and brave braggart. With these results he wended
his way home much depressed in spirits, but not in
the least discouraged, and fonder of fighting than
ever.
Vir ginia, however, took a kinder view of the
ON THE FRONTIER.
T7
campaign than did her defeated soldier. She ap¬
preciated the gallantry of the offer to fight in the
open and the general conduct of the troops, and
her House of Burgesses passed a vote of thanks to
Washington and his officers, and gave money to
his men. In August he rejoined his regiment, and
renewed the vain struggle against incompetence and
extravagance, and as if this were not enough, his
sense of honor was wounded and his temper much
irritated by the governor’s playing false to the
prisoners taken in the Jumonville fight. While
thus engaged, news came that the French were off
their guard at Fort Huquesne, and Dinwiddie was
for having the regiment of undisciplined troops
march again into the wilderness. W ashington,
however, had learned something, if not a great deal,
and he demonstrated the folly of such an attempt
in a manner too clear to be confuted.
Meantime the Burgesses came together, and more
money being voted, Dinwiddie hit on a notable plan
for quieting dissensions between regulars and pro¬
vincials by dividing all the troops into independent
companies, with no officer higher than a captain.
Washington, the only officer who had seen fighting
and led the regiment, resented this senseless policy,
and resigning his commission withdrew to Mount
Vernon to manage the estate and attend to his own
affairs. He was driven to this course still more
strongly by the original cause of Dinwiddle’s ar¬
rangement. The English government had issued
an order that officers holding the king’s commis-
78
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
sion should rank provincial officers, and that pro¬
vincial generals and field officers should have no
rank when a general or field officer holding a royal
commission was present. The degradation of beino-
ranked by every whipper-snapper who might hold
a royal commission by virtue, perhaps, of being the
bastard son of some nobleman’s cast-off mistress
was more than the temper of George Washington
could bear, and when Governor Sharpe, general by
the king’s commission, and eager to secure the ser¬
vices of the best fighter in Virginia, offered him a
company and urged his acceptance, he replied in
language that must have somewhat astonished his
excellency. “ You make mention in your letter,”
he wrote to Colonel Fitzhugh, Governor Sharpe’s
second in command, “ of my continuing in the ser¬
vice, and retaining my colonel’s commission. This
idea has filled me with surprise ; for, if you think
me capable of holding a commission that has nei¬
ther rank nor emolument annexed to it, you must
entertain a very contemptible opinion of my weak¬
ness, and believe me to be more empty than the
commission itself. . . . In short every captain,
bearing the king’s commission, every half-pay offi¬
cer, or others appearing with such a commission,
would rank before me. ... Yet my inclinations
are strongly bent to arms.”
It was a bitter disappointment to withdraw from
military life, but Washington had an intense sense
of personal dignity ; not the small vanity of a petty
mind, but the quality of a proud man conscious of
ON THE FRONTIER.
79
his own strength and purpose. It was of immense
value to the American people at a later day, and
there is something very instructive in this early re¬
volt against the stupid arrogance which England
has always thought it wise to display toward this
country. She has paid dearly for indulging it, but
it has seldom cost her more than when it drove
W ashington from her service, and left in his mind
a sense of indignity and injustice.
Meantime this Virginian campaigning had started
a great movement. England was aroused, and it
was determined to assail France in Nova Scotia,
from New York and on the Ohio. In accordance
with this plan General Braddock arrived in Virginia
February 20, 1755, with two picked regiments, and
encamped at Alexandria. Thither Washington used
to ride and look longingly at the pomp and glitter,
and wish that he were engaged in the service.
Presently this became known, and Braddock, hear¬
ing of the young Virginian’s past experience, offered
him a place on his staff with the rank of colonel
where he would be subject only to the orders of the
general, and could serve as a volunteer. He there¬
fore accepted at once, and threw himself into his
new duties with hearty good-will. ■ Every step was
full of instruction. At Annapolis he met the gov¬
ernors of the other colonies, and was interested and
attracted by this association with distinguished pub¬
lic men. In the army to which he was attached
he studied with the deepest attention the best dis¬
cipline of Europe, observing everything and forget-
80
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
ting notliing, thus preparing himself unconseiously
to use against his teaehers the knowledge he ac¬
quired.
He also made warm friends with the English
ofheers, and was treated with consideration by his
commander. The universal practice of all English¬
men was to behave contemptuously to the colonists,
but there was something about Washington whieh
made this impossible. They all treated him with
the utmost courtesy, vaguely conseious that beneath
the pleasant, quiet manner there was a strength of
character and ability such as is rarely found, and
that this was a man whom it was unsafe to affront.
There is no stronger instance of Washington’s
power of impressing himself upon others than that
he commanded now the respect and affection of his
general, who was the last man to be easily or favor¬
ably affected by a young provincial officer.
Edward Braddock was a veteran soldier, a skilled
disciplinarian, and a rigid martinet. He was nar¬
row-minded, brutal, and brave. He had led a fast
life in society, indulging in coarse and violent dis¬
sipations, and was proud with the intense pride of
a limited intelligence and a nature incapable of
physical fear. It would be difficult to conceive of
a man more unfit to be entrusted with the task of
marching through the wilderness and sweeping the
French from the Ohio. All the conditions which
confronted him were unfamiliar and beyond his ex¬
perience. He cordially despised the provincials who
were essential to his success, and lost no opportunity
ON THE FRONTIER.
81
of showing his contempt for them. The colonists
on their side, especially in Pennsylvania, gave him,
unfortunately, only too much ground for irritation
and disgust. They were delighted to see this bril¬
liant force come from England to fight their battles,
but they kept on wrangling and holding back, refus¬
ing money and supplies, and doing nothing. Prad
dock chafed and delayed, swore angrily, and lingered
still. Washington helped him, but defended his
country fearlessly against wholesale and furious
attacks.
Finally the army began to move, but so slowly
and after so much delay that they did not reach
Wilks Creek until the middle of May. Here came
another exasperating pause, relieved only by Frank¬
lin, who by giving his own time, ability, and money,
supplied the necessary wagons. Then they pushed
on again, but with the utmost slowness. With su¬
preme difhculty they made an elaborate road over
the mountains as they marched, and did not reach
the Little Meadows until June 16th. Then at last
Braddock turned to his young aide for the counsel
which had already been proffered and rejected many
times. M^ashington advised the division of the
army, so that the main body could hurry forward in
light marching order while a detachment remained
behind and brought up the heavy baggage. This
plan was adopted, and the army started forward,
still too heavily burdened, as Washington thought,
but in somewhat better trim than before for the
wilderness. Their progress, quickened as it was.
82
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
still seemed slow to Washington, but he was taken
ill with a fever, and finally was compelled by Brad-
dock to stop for rest at the ford of Youghiogany.
He made Braddock promise that he should be
brought up before the army reached Fort Duquesne,
and wrote to his friend Orme that he would not
miss the impending battle for five hundred pounds.
As soon as his fever abated a little he left Col¬
onel Dunbar, and, being unable to sit on a horse,
was conveyed to the front in a wagon, coming up
with the army on J uly 8th. He was just in time,
for the next day the troops forded the Monongahela
and marched to attack the fort. The splendid ap-
j)earance of the soldiers as they crossed the river
roused Washington’s enthusiasm; but he was not
without misgivings. Franklin had already warned
Braddock against the danger of surprise, and had
been told with a sneer that while these savages
might be a formidable enemy to raw American
militia, they could make no impression on disciplined
troops. Now at the last moment Washington
warned the general again and was angrily rebuked.
The troops marched on in ordered ranks, glitter¬
ing and beautiful. Suddenly firing w^as heard in
the front, and presently the van was flung back on
the main body. Yells and war-whoops resounded
on every side, and an unseen enemy poured in a
deadly fire. Washington begged Braddock to
throw his men into the woods, but all in vain.
Fight in platoons they must, or not at all. The
result was that they did not fight at all. They
ON THE FRONTIER.
83
became panic-stricken, and huddled together, over¬
come with fear, until at last when Braddock was
mortally wounded they broke in wild rout and fled.
Of the regular troops, seven hundred, and of the
officers, who showed the utmost bravery, sixty-two
out of eighty-six, were killed or wounded. Two
hundred Frenchmen and six hundred Indians
achieved this signal victory. The only thing that
could be called flghting on the English side was
done by the Virginians, “ the raw American mili¬
tia,” who, spread out as skirmishers, met their foes
on their own ground, and were cut oft almost to a
man.
Washington at the outset flung himself head¬
long into the fight. He rode up and down the field,
carrying orders and striving to rally ‘‘the das¬
tards,” as he afterwards called the regular troops.
He endeavored to bring up the artillery, but the
men would not serve the guns, although he aimed
and discharged one himself. All through that
dreadful carnage he rode fiercely about, raging
with the excitement of battle, and utterly exposed
from beginning to end. Even now it makes the
heart beat quicker to think of him amid the smoke
and slaughter as he dashed hither and thither,
his face glowing and his eyes shining with the
fierce light of battle, leading on his own Virgin¬
ians, and trying to stay the tide of disaster. He j
had two horses shot under him and four bullets
through his coat. The Indians thought he bore a
charmed life, while his death was reported in the
f
84
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
colonies, together with his dying speech, which, he
dryly wrote to his brother, he had not yet com¬
posed.
When the troops broke it was Washington who
gathered the fugitives and brought off the dying
general. It was he who rode on to meet Dunbar,
and rallying the fugitives enabled the wretched
remnants to take up their march for the settle¬
ments. He it was who laid Braddock in the grave
four days after the defeat, and read over the dead
the solemn words of the English service. Wise,
sensible, and active in the advance, splendidly
reckless on the day of battle, cool and collected
on the retreat, Washington alone emerged from
that history of disaster with added glory. Again
he comes before us as, above all things, the fighting
man, hot-blooded and fierce in action, and utterly
indifferent to the danger which excited and de¬
lighted him. But the earlier lesson had not been
useless. He showed a prudence and wisdom in
counsel which were not apparent in the first of his
campaigns. He no longer thought that courage
was all-sufficient, or that any enemy could be de¬
spised. He was plainly one of those who could
learn. His first experience had borne good fruit,
and now he had been taught a series of fresh and
valuable lessons.- Before his eyes had been dis¬
played the most brilliant European discipline, both
in camp and on the march. He had studied and
absorbed it all, talking with veterans and hearing
from them many things that he could have ac-
ON THE FRONTIER.
85
quired nowhere else. Once more had he been
taught, in a way not to be forgotten, that it is never
well to underrate one’s opponent. He had looked
deeper, too, and had seen what the whole continent
soon understood, that English troops were not in¬
vincible, that they could be beaten by Indians, and
that they were after all much like other men.
This was the knowledge, fatal to British suprem¬
acy, which Braddock’s defeat brought to Washing¬
ton and to the colonists, and which was never for¬
gotten. Could he have looked into the future, he
would have seen also in this ill-fated expedition an
epitome of much future history. The expedition
began with stupid contempt toward America and
all things American, and ended in ruin and defeat.
It was a bitter experience, much heeded by the
colonists, but disregarded by England, whose indif¬
ference was paid for at a heavy cost.
After the hasty retreat. Colonel Dunbar, stricken
with panic, fled onward to Philadelphia, abandon¬
ing everything, and Virginia was left naturally in
a state of great alarm. The assembly came to¬
gether, and at last, thoroughly frightened, voted
abundant money, and ordered a regiment of a thou¬
sand men to be raised. Washington, who had re¬
turned to Mount Vernon ill and worn-out, was
urged to solicit the command, but it was not his
way to solicit, and he declined to do so now. Au¬
gust 14th, he wrote to his mother : “ If it is in my
power to avoid going to the Ohio again, I shall ;
but if the command is pressed upon me by the
86
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
general voice of the country, and offered upon such
terms as cannot be objected against, it would re¬
flect dishonor on me to refuse it.” The same day
he was offered the command of all the Virginian
forces on his own terms, and accepted. Virginia
believed in Washington, and he was ready to obey
her call.
He at once assumed command and betook him¬
self to Winchester, a general without an army,
but still able to check by his presence the existing
panic, and ready to enter upon the trying, dreary,
and fruitless work that lay before him. In April,
1757, he wrote: “I have been posted then, for
more than twenty months past, upon our cold and
barren frontiers, to perform, I think I may say,
impossibilities ; that is, to protect from the cruel
incursions of a crafty, savage enemy a line of in¬
habitants, of more than three hundred and fifty
miles in extent, with a force inadequate to the
task.” This terse statement covers all that can
be said of the next three years. It was a long
struggle against a savage foe in front, and narrow¬
ness, jealousy, and stupidity behind ; apparently
without any chance of effecting anything, or gain¬
ing any glory or reward. Troops were voted, but
were raised with difficulty, and when raised were
neglected and ill-treated by the wrangling gov¬
ernor and assembly, which caused much ill-sup¬
pressed wrath in the breast of the commander-in¬
chief. He labored day and night to bring about
better discipline in camp, and he wrote long let-
ON THE FRONTIER.
87
ters to Williamsburg recounting existing evils and
praying for a new militia law.
The troops, in fact, were got out with vast diffi¬
culty even under the most stinging necessity, and
were almost worthless when they came. Of one
“ noble captain” who refused to come, Washington
wrote I W^ith coolness and moderation this great
captain answered that his wife, family, and corn
were all at stake ; so were those of his soldiers ;
therefore it was impossible for him to come. Such
is the example of the officers ; such the behavior of
the men; and upon such circumstances depends
the safety of our country ! ” But while the soldiers
were neglected, and the assembly faltered, and the
militia disobeyed, the French and Indians kept at
work on the long, exposed frontier. There panic
reio-ned, and farmhouses and villages went up in
smoke, and the fields were reddened with slaughter
at each fresh incursion. Gentlemen in Williams-
burir bore these misfortunes with reasonable for-
titude, but Washington raged against the abuses
and the inaction, and vowed that nothing but the
imminent danger prevented his resignation. “ The
supplicating tears of the women,” he wrote, “ and
moving petitions of the men melt me into such
deadly sorrow that I solemnly declare, if I know
my own mind, I could offer myself a willing sacri¬
fice to the butchering enemy, provided that would
contribute to the people’s ease.” This is one of
the rare flashes of personal feeling which disclose
the real man, warm of heart and temper, full of
88
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
human sympathy, and giving vent to hot indig¬
nation in words which still ring clear and strong
across the century that has come and gone.
Serious troubles, moreover, were complicated by
petty annoyances. A Maryland captain, at the
head of thirty men, undertook to claim rank over
the Virginian commander-in-chief because he had
held a king’s commission ; and Washington was
obliged to travel to Boston in order to have the
miserable thing set right by Governor Shirley.
This affair settled, he returned to take up again
the old disheartening struggle, and his outspoken
condemnation of Dinwiddie’s foolish schemes and
of the shortcomings of the government began to
raise up backbiters and malcontents at Williams¬
burg. “ My orders,” he said, “ are dark, doubt¬
ful, and uncertain ; to-day approved, to-morrow
condemned. Left to act and proceed at hazard,
accountable for the consequences, and blamed with¬
out the benefit of defence.” He determined never¬
theless to bear with his trials until the arrival of
Lord Loudon, the new commander-in-chief, from
whom he expected vigor and improvement. Un¬
fortunately he was destined to have only fresh
disappointment from the new general. Lord Lou¬
don was merely one more incompetent man added
to the existing confusion. He paid no heed to the
South, matters continued to go badly in the North,
and Virginia was left helpless. So Washington
toiled on with much discouragement, and the dis¬
agreeable attacks upon him increased. That it
ON THE FRONTIER.
89
should have been so is not surprising. He wrote
to the governor, who now held him in much dis¬
favor, to the speaker, and indeed to every one, with
a most galling plainness. He was only twenty-five,
be it remembered, and his high temper was by no
means under perfect control. He was anything but
diplomatic at that period of his life, and was far
from patient, using language with much sincerity
and force, and indulging in a blunt irony of rather
a ferocious kind. When he was accused finally of
getting up reports of imaginary dangers, his tem¬
per gave way entirely. He wrote wrathfully to
the governor for justice, and added in a letter to
his friend. Captain Peachey ; “ As to Colonel C. s
gTOSS and infamous reflections on my conduct last
spring, it will be needless, I dare say, to observe
further at this time than that the liberty which
he has been pleased to allow himself in sporting
with my character is little else than a comic en¬
tertainment, discovering at one view his passionate
fondness for your friend, his inviolable love of
truth, his unfathomable knowledge, and the mas¬
terly strokes of his wisdom in displaying it. You
are heartily welcome to make use of any letter or
letters which I may at any time have written to
you ; for although I keep no copies of epistles to
my friends, nor can remember the contents of all
of them, yet I am sensible that the narrations are
just, and that truth and honesty will appear in
my writings \ of which, therefore, I shall not be
ashamed, though criticism may censure my style.
90
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Perhaps a little more patience would have pro¬
duced better results, but it is pleasant to find one
man, in that period of stupidity and incompetency,
who was ready to free his mind in this refreshing
way. The only wonder is that he was not driven
from his command. That they insisted on keep¬
ing him there shows beyond everything that he had
already impressed himself so strongly on Virginia
that the authorities, although they smarted under
his attacks, did not dare to meddle with him. Din-
widdie and the rest could foil him in obtaininof a
commission in the king’s army, but they could not
shake his hold upon the people.
In the winter of 1758 his health broke down
completely. He was so ill that he thought that his
constitution was seriously injured ; and therefore
withdrew to Mount Vernon, where he slowly re¬
covered. Meantime a great man came at last to
the head of affairs in England, and, inspired by
William Pitt, fleets and armies went forth to con¬
quer. Eeviving at the prospect, Washington of¬
fered his services to General Forbes, who had come
to undertake the task which Braddock had failed
to accomplish. Once more English troops ap¬
peared, and a large army was gathered. Then the
old story began again, and Washington, whose prof¬
fered aid had been gladly received, chafed and
worried all summer at the fresh spectacle of delay
and stupidity which was presented to him. His
advice was disregarded, and all the weary business
of building new roads through the wilderness was
ON THE FRONTIER.
91
once more undertaken. A detachment, sent for¬
ward contrary to his views, met with the fate of
Braddock, and as the summer passed, and autumn
changed to winter, it looked as if nothing would be
gained in return for so much toil and preparation.
But Pitt had conquered the Ohio in Canada, news
arrived of the withdrawal of the Prench, the army
pressed on, and, with Washington in the van,
marched into the smoking ruins of Fort Duquesne,
henceforth to be kfiown to the world as Fort Pitt.
So closed the first period in Washington’s pnb-
lic career. We have seen him pass through it in
all its phases. It shows him as an adventurous
pioneer, as a reckless frontier fighter, and as a
soldier of great promise. He learned many things
in this time, and was taught much in the hard
school of adversity. In the effort to conquer
Frenchmen and Indians he studied the art of war,
and at the same time he learned to bear with and
to overcome the dulness and inefficiency of the gov¬
ernment he served. Thus he was forced to practise
self-control in order to attain his ends, and to ac¬
quire skill in the management of men. There
could have been no better training for the work he
was to do in the after years, and the future showed
how deeply he profited by it. Let us turn now,
for a moment, to the softer and pleasanter side
of life, and having seen wFat Washington was,
and what he did as a fighting man, let us try to
know him in the equally important and far moie
attractive domain of private and domestic life.
CHAPTER IV.
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
Lewis Willis, of Fredericksburg, who was at
school with Washington, used to speak of him as
an unusually studious and industrious boy, but
recalled one occasion when he distinguished him¬
self and surprised his schoolmates by “ romping
with one of the largest girls.” ^ Half a century
later, when the days of romping were long over
and gone, a gentleman writing of a Mrs. Hartley,
whom Washington much admired, says that the
general always liked a fine woman.^ It is certain
that from romping he passed rapidly to more
serious forms of expressing regard, for by the time
he was fourteen he had fallen deeply in love with
Mary Bland of Westmoreland, whom he calls his
“ Lowland Beauty,” and to whom he wrote various
copies of verses, preserved amid the notes of sur¬
veys, in his diary for 1747-48. The old tradi¬
tion identified the “ Lowland Beauty ” with Miss
Grimes, also of Westmoreland, and there are
drafts of letters addressed to “ Dear Sally,” which
^ Quoted from tlie Willis MS. by Mr. Conway, in Magazine of
American History, March, 1887, p. 196.
2 Magazine of American History, i. 324.
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
93
suggest tliat tlie mistake in identification might
have arisen from the fact that there was more than
one lady who answered to that description. In the
following sentence from the draft of a letter to a
masculine sympathizer, also preserved in the tell¬
tale diary of 1748, there is certainly an indication
that the constancy of the lover was not perfect.
“ Dear Friend Eobin,” he wrote : ‘‘ My place of
residence at present is at his Lordship’s, where I
might, were my heart disengaged, pass my time
very pleasantly, as there is a very agreeable young
lady in the same house. Colonel George Fairfax’s
wife’s sister. But that only adds fuel to the fire,
as being often and unavoidably in company with
her revives my former passion for your Lowland
Beauty ; whereas were I to live more retired from
young women, I might in some measure alleviate
my sorrow by burying that chaste and troublesome
passion in oblivion ; I am very well assured that this
will be the only antidote or remedy.” Our gloomy
young gentleman, however, did not take to solitude
to cure the pangs of despised love, but proceeded
to calm his spirits by the society of this same sis¬
ter-in-law of George Fairfax, Miss Mary Carey.
The “Lowland Beauty,” Mary Bland, married
Henry Lee, and became the mother of “ Legion
Harry,” a favorite officer and friend of Washing¬
ton, and the grandmother of Kobert E. Lee, the
great soldier of the Southern Confederacy. The
affair with Miss Carey went on apparently for some
years, fitfully pursued in the intervals of war and
94
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Indian fighting, and interrupted also by matters of
a more tender nature. The first diversion occurred
about 1752, when we find Washington writing to
William Fauntleroy, at Richmond, that he pro¬
posed to come to his house to see his sister. Miss
Betsy, and that he hoped for a revocation of her
former cruel sentence.^ Miss Betsy, however,
seems to have been obdurate, and we hear no more
of love affairs until much later, and then in con¬
nection with matters of a graver sort.
When Captain Dagworth}^, commanding thirty
men in the Maryland service, undertook in virtue
of a king’s commission to outrank the commander-
in-chief of the Virginian forces, Washington made
up his mind that he would have this question at
least finally and properly settled. So, as has been
said, he went to Boston, saw Governor Shirley, and
had the dispute determined in his own favor. He
made the journey on horseback, and had with him
two of his aides and two servants. An old letter,
luckily preserved, tells us how he looked, for it con¬
tains orders to his London agents for various arti¬
cles, sent for perhaps in anticij)ation of this very
expedition. In Braddock’s campaign the young
surveyor and frontier soldier had been thrown
among a party of dashing, handsomely equipped
officers fresh from London, and their appearance
had engaged his careful attention. Washington
was a thoroughly simple man in all ways, but lie
1 Historical Magazine, 3d series, 1873. Letter communicated
by Fitzhugh Lee.
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
95
was also a man of taste and a lover of military
discipline. He had a keen sense of appropriate¬
ness, a valuable faculty which stood him in good
stead in grave as well as trivial matters all through
his career, and which in his youth came out most
strongly in the matter of manners and personal ap¬
pearance. He was a handsome man, and liked to
be well dressed and to have everything about him¬
self or his servants of the best. Yet he was not a
mere imitator of fashions or devoted to fine clothes.
The American leggings and fringed hunting-shirt
had a strong hold on his affections, and he intro¬
duced them into Forbes’s army, and again into the
array of the Revolution, as the best uniform for the
backwoods fighters. But he learned with Braddock
that the dress of parade has as real military value
as that of service, and when he travelled northward
to settle about Captain Dagworthy, he felt justly
that he now was going on parade for the first time
as the representative of his troops and his colony.
Therefore with excellent sense he dressed as befitted
the occasion, and at the same time gratified his own
taste.
Thanks to these precautions, the little cavalcade
that left Virginia on February 4, 1756, must have
looked brilliant enough as they rode away through
the dark woods. First came the colonel, mounted
of course on the finest of animals, for he loved and
understood horses from the time when he rode
bareback in the pasture to those later days when he
acted as judge at a horse-race and saw his own pet
96
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
colt “Magnolia” beaten. In this expedition lie
wore, of course, bis uniform of buff and blue, with
a white and scarlet cloak over his shoulders, and a
sword-knot of red and gold. His “horse furniture”
was of the best London make, trimmed with “livery
lace,” and the Washington arms were engraved
upon the housings. Close by his side rode his two
aides, likewise in buff and blue, and behind came
his servants, dressed in the W^ashington colors of
white and scarlet and wearing hats laced with silver.
Thus accoutred they all rode on together to the
North.
The colonel’s fame had gone before him, for the
hero of Braddock’s stricken field and the com¬
mander of the Virginian forces was known by repu¬
tation throughout the colonies. Every door flew
open to him as he passed, and every one was de¬
lighted to welcome the young soldier. He was
dined and wined and feted in Philadelphia, and
again in New York, where he fell in love at appar¬
ently short notice with the heiress Mary Philipse,
the sister-in-law of his friend Beverly Robinson.
Tearing himself away from these attractions he
pushed on to Boston, then the most important city
on the continent, and the headquarters of Shirley,
the commander-in-chief. The little New England
capital had at that time a society which, rich for
those days, was relieved from its Puritan sombre¬
ness by the gayety and life brought in by the royal
officers. Here Washington lingered ten days, talk¬
ing war and politics with the governor, visiting in
LOVE AND MARRIAGE,
97
state the “ great and general court,” dancing every
night at some ball, dining with and being feted by
the magnates of the town. His business done, he
returned to New York, tarried there awhile for
the sake of the fair dame, but came to no conclu¬
sions, and then, like County Guy, he gave his bridle-
rein a shake and rode away again to the South, and
to the harassed and ravaged frontier of Virginia.
How much this little interlude, pushed into a
corner as it has been by the dignity of history,
how much it tells of the real man ! How the statu¬
esque myth and the priggish myth and the dull
and solemn myth melt away before it ! Wise and
strong, a bearer of heavy responsibility beyond his
years, daring in fight and sober in judgment, we
have here the other and the more human side of
Washington. One loves to picture that gallant,
generous, youthful figure, brilliant in color and
manly in form, riding gayly on from one little colo¬
nial town to another, feasting, dancing, courting,
and making merry. For him the myrtle and ivy
were entwined with the laurel, and fame was
sweetened by youth. He was righteously ready to
draw from life all the good things which fate and
fortune then smiling upon him could offer, and he
took his pleasure frankly and freely, with an honest
heart. ....
We know that he succeeded in his mission and
put the captain of thirty men in his proper place,
but no one now can tell how deeply he was affected
by the charms of Miss Philipse. The only certain
98
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
fact is that he was able not long after to console
himself very effectually. Eiding away from Mount
Vernon once more, in the spring of 1758, this time
to Williamsburg with despatches, he stopped at
William’s Ferry to dine with his friend Maior
Chamberlayne,and there he met Martha Dandridge,
the widow of Daniel Parke Custis. She was young,
pretty, intelligent, and an heiress, and her society
seemed to attract the young soldier. The afternoon
wore away, the horses came to the door at the ap¬
pointed time, and after being walked back and forth
for some hours were returned to the stable. The
sun went down, and still the colonel lingered. The
next morning he rode away with his despatches,
but on his return he paused at the White House,
the home of Mrs. Custis, and then and there
plighted his troth with the charming widow. The
wooing was brief and decisive, and the successful
lover departed for the camp, to feel more keenly
than ever the delays of the British officers and the
shortcomings of the colonial government. As soon
as Fort Duquesne had fallen he hurried home, re¬
signed his commission in the last week of Decem¬
ber, and was married on January 6, 1759. It
was a brilliant wedding party which assembled on
that winter day in the little church near the White
House. There were gathered Francis Fauquier,
the gay, free-thinking, high-living governor, gor¬
geous in scarlet and gold; British officers, red-
coated and gold-laced, and all the neighboring
gentry in the handsomest clothes that London
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
99
credit could furnish. The bride was attired in silk
and satin, laces and brocade, with pearls on her
neck and in her ears ; while the bridegroom appeared
in blue and silver trimmed with scarlet, and with
gold buckles at his knees and on his shoes. After
the ceremony the bride was taken home in a coach
and six, her husband riding beside her, mounted on
a splendid horse and followed by all the gentlemen
of the party.
The sunshine and glitter of the wedding-day
must have appeared to Washington deeply appro¬
priate, for he certainly seemed to have all that
heart of man could desire. Just twenty-seven, in
the first flush of young manhood, keen of sense and
yet wise in experience, life must have looked very
fair and smiling. He had left the army with a
well-earned fame, and had come home to take the
wife of his choice and enjoy the good-will and re¬
spect of all men. While away on his last campaign
he had been elected a member of the House of
Burgesses, and when he took his seat on removing
to Williamsburg, three months after his marriage,
Mr. Robinson, the speaker, thanked him publicly
in eloquent words for his services to the country.
Washington rose to reply, but he was so utterly
unable to talk about himself that he stood before
the House stammering and blushing, until the
speaker said, “Sit down, Mr. W^ashington; your
modesty equals your valor, and that surpasses the
power of any language I possess.” It is an old
story, and as graceful as it is old, but it was all very
100
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
grateful to Washington, especially as the words of
the speaker bodied forth the feelings of Virginia.
Such an atmosphere, filled with deserved respect
and praise, was pleasant to begin with, and then he
had everything else too.
He not only continued to sit in the House year
after year and help to rule Virginia, but he served
on the church vestry, and so held in his hands
the reins of local government. He had married
a charming woman, simple, straightforward, and
sympathetic, free from gossip or pretence, and as
capable in practical matters as he was himself.
By right of birth a member of the Virginian aris¬
tocracy, he had widened and strengthened his con¬
nections through his wife. A man of handsome
property by the death of Lawrence Washington's
daughter, he had become by his marriage one of
the richest men of the country. Acknowledged to
be the first soldier on the continent, respected and
trusted in public, successful and happy in private
life, he had attained before he was thirty to all
that Virginia could give of wealth, prosperity, and
honor, a fact of which he was well aware, for there
never breathed a man more wisely contented than
George Washington at this period.
He made his home at Mount Vernon, adding
many acres to the estate, and giving to it his best
attention. It is needless to say that he was suc¬
cessful, for that was the case with everything he
undertook. He loved country life, and he was
the best and most prosperous planter in Virginia,
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
101
which was really a more difficult achievement than
the mere statement implies. Genuinely profitable
farming in Virginia was not common, for the gen¬
eral system was a bad one. A single great staple,
easily produced by the reckless exhaustion of land,
and varying widely in the annual value of crops,
bred improvidence and speculation. Everything
was bought upon long credits, given by the London
merchants, and this, too, contributed largely to
carelessness and waste. The chronic state of a
planter in a business way was one of debt, and the
lack of capital made his conduct of affairs extrava¬
gant and loose. With all his care and method
Washington himself was often pinched for ready
money, and it was only by his thoroughness and
foresight that he prospered and made money while
so many of his neighbors struggled with debt and
lived on in easy luxury, not knowing what the
morrow might bring forth.
A far more serious trouble than bad business
methods was one which was little heeded at the
moment, but which really lay at the foundation of
the whole system of society and business. This
was the character of the labor by which the plan¬
tations were worked. Slave labor is well known
now to be the most expensive and the worst form
of labor that can be employed. In the middle of
the eighteenth century, however, its evils were not
appreciated, either from an economical or a moral
point of view. This is not the place to discuss the
subject of African slavery in America. But it is
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
102
important to know asliington s opinions in rogard
to an institution wkich. was dostinod to havG suck a
powerful influence upon tke country, and it seems
most appropriate to consider those opinions at the
moment when slaves became a practical factor in
his life as a Virginian planter.
W^ashington accepted the system as he found
it, as most men accept the social arrangements
to which they are born. He grew up in a world
where slavery had alv/ays existed, and where its
rightfulness had never been questioned. Being on
the frontier, occupied with surveying and with war,
he never had occasion to really consider the matter
at all until he found himself at the head of large
estates, v/ith his own prosperity dependent on the
labor of slaves. The first practical question, there¬
fore, v/as how to employ this labor to the best ad¬
vantage. A man of his clear perceptions soon dis¬
covered the defects of the system, and he gave great
attention to feeding and clothing his slaves, and to
their general management. Parkinson^ says in a
general way that AVashington treated his slaves
harshly, spoke to them sharply, and maintained a
military discipline, to which he attributed the Gen¬
eral’s rare success as a planter. There can be no
doubt of the success, and the military discipline is
probably true, but the statement as to harshness is
unsupported by any other authority. Indeed, Park¬
inson even contradicts it himself, for he says else¬
where that Washington never bought or sold a slave,
1 Tour in America, 1798-1800.
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
103
a proof of the highest and most intelligent human¬
ity ; and he adds in his final sketch of the General’s
character, that he “ was incapable of wrong-doing,
but did to all men as he would they should do to
him. Therefore it is not to be supposed that he
would injure the negro.” This agrees with what we
learn from all other sources. Humane by nature,
he conceived a great interest and pity for these
helpless beings, and treated them with kindness
and forethought. In a word, he was a wise and
good master, as well as a successful one, and the
condition of his slaves was as happy, and their labor
as profitable, as was possible to such a system.
So the years rolled by ; the war came and then
the making of the government, and Washington’s
thoughts were turned more and more, as was the
case with all the men of his time in that era of
chano;e and of new ideas, to the consideration of
human slavery in its moral, political, and social as¬
pects. To trace the course of his opinions in detail
is needless. It is sufficient to summarize them, for
the results of his reflection and observation are
more important than the processes by which they
were reached. Washington became convinced that
the whole system was thoroughly bad, as well as
utterly repugnant to the ideas on which the Revo¬
lution was fought and the government of the United
States founded. With a prescience wonderful for
those days and on that subject, he saw that slavery
meant the up-growth in the United States of two
systems so radically hostile, both socially and eco-
104
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
nomically, tliat they could lead only to a struggle
for political supremacy, which in its course he
feared would imperil the Union. For this reason
he deprecated the introduction of the slavery ques¬
tion into the debates of the first Congress, because
he realized its character, and he did not believe
that the Union or the government at that early day
could bear the strain which in this way would be
produced. At the same time he felt that a right
solution must be found or inconceivable evils would
ensue. The inherent and everlasting wrong of the
system made its continuance, to his mind, impos¬
sible. While it existed, he believed that the laws
which surrounded it should be maintained, because
he thought that to violate these only added one
wrong to another. He also doubted, as will be seen
in a later chapter, where his conversation with John
Bernard is quoted, whether the negroes could be
immediately emancipated with safety either to them¬
selves or to the whites, in their actual condition of
ignorance, illiteracy, and helplessness. The plan
which he favored, and which, it would seem, was his
hope and reliance, was first the checking of importa¬
tion, followed by a gradual emancipation, with proper
compensation to the owners and suitable prepara¬
tion and education for the slaves. He told the
clergymen Asbury and Coke, when they visited him
for that purpose, that he was in favor of emancipa¬
tion, and was ready to write a letter to the assembly
to that effect.^ He wished fervently that such a
1 ^ Magazine of American History^ 1880, p. 158.
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
105
Spirit might take possession of the people of the
country, but he wrote to Lafayette that he de¬
spaired of seeing it. When he died he did all that
lay within his power to impress his views upon his
countrymen by directing that all his slaves should
be set free on the death of his wife. His precepts
and his example in this grave matter went unheeded
for many years by the generations that came after
him. But now that slavery is dead, to the joy of
all men, it is well to remember that on this terrible
question Washington’s opinions were those of a
humane man, impatient of wrong, and of a noble
and far-seeing statesman, watchful of the evils that
threatened his country.^
After this digression let us return to the Virgin¬
ian farmer, whose mind was not disturbed as yet
by thoughts of the destiny of the United States, or
considerations of the rights of man, but who was
much exercised by the task of making an honest
income out of his estates. To do this he grappled
with details as firmly as he did with the general
system under which all plantations in that day
were carried on. He understood every branch of
farming! ; he was on the alert for every improve-
ment; he rose early, worked steadily, gave to every¬
thing his personal supervision, kept his own accounts
with wonderful exactness, and naturally enough his
brands of flour went unquestioned everywhere, his
credit was high, and he made money so far as
^ For some expressions of Washington’s opinions on slavery, see
Sparks, viii. 414, ix. lo9— 163, and x. 224.
106
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
it was possible under existing conditions. Like
Shakespeare, as Bishop Blougram has it, he
“Saved money, spent it, owned the worth of things.”
He had no fine and senseless disregard for money
or the good things of this world, but on the con¬
trary saw in them not the value attached to them
by vulgar minds, but their true worth. He was a
solid, square, evenly-balanced man in those days,
believing that whatever he did was worth doing
well. So he farmed, as he fought and governed,
better than anybody else.
While thus looking after his own estates at
home, he went further afield in search of invest¬
ments, keeping a shrewd eye on the western lands,
and buying wisely and judiciously whenever he had
the opportunity. He also constituted himself now,
as in a later time, the champion of the soldiers, for
whom he had the truest sympathy and affection,
and a large part of the correspondence of this pe¬
riod is devoted to their claims for the lands granted
them by the assembly. He distinguished care¬
fully among them, however, those who were unde¬
serving, and to the major of the regiment, who had
been excluded from the public thanks on account
of cowardice at the Great Meadows, he wrote as
follows : “ Your impertinent letter was delivered
to me yesterday. As I am not accustomed to re¬
ceive such from any man, nor would have taken
the same language from you personally without
letting you feel some marks of my resentment, I
LOVE AND MARRIAGE,
107
would advise you to be cautious in writing me a
second of tbe same tenor. But for your stupidity
and sottislmess you miglit have known, by attend¬
ing to the public gazette, that you had your full
quantity of ten thousand acres of land allowed
you. But suppose you had really fallen short, do
you think your superlative merit entitles you to
greater indulgence than others? . . . All my con¬
cern is that I ever engaged in behalf of so un¬
grateful a fellow as you are.” The writer of this
letter, be it said in passing, was the man whom
Mr. Weems and others tell us was knocked down
before his soldiers, and then apologized to his as¬
sailant. It may be suspected that it was well for
the recipient of this letter that he did not have a
personal interview with its author, and it may be
doubted if he ever sought one subsequently. Just,
generous, and magnanimous to an extraordinary
degree, Washington had a dangerous temper, held
well under control, but blazing out now and again
against injustice, impertinence, or oppression. He
was a peaceful man, leading a peaceful life, but the
fighting spirit only slumbered, and it would break
out at wrong of any sort, in a way which was ex¬
tremely unpleasant and threatening to those who
aroused it.
Apart from lands and money and the manage¬
ment of affairs, public and private, there were many
other interests of varied nature which all had their
share of Washington’s time and thought. He was
a devoted husband, and gave to his step-children
108
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the most affectionate care. He watched over and
protected them, and when the daughter died, after
a long and wasting illness, in 1773, he mourned
for her as if she had been his own, with all the
tenderness of a deep and reserved affection. The
boy, John Custis, he made his friend and compan¬
ion from the beginning, and his letters to the lad
and about him are wise and judicious in the high¬
est degree. He spent much time and thought on
the question of education, and after securing the
best instructors took the boy to New York and
entered him at Columbia College in 1773. Young
Custis however did not remain there long, for he
had fallen in love, and the following year was mar¬
ried to Eleanor Calvert, not without some misgiv¬
ings on the part of Washington, who had observed
his ward’s somewhat flighty disposition, and who
gave a great deal of anxious thought to his future.
At home as abroad he was an undemonstrative
man, but he had abundance of that real affection
which labors for those to whom it goes out more
unselfishly and far more effectually than that
which bubbles and boils upon the surface like a
shallow, noisy brook.
From the suggestions that he made in regard to
young Custis, it is evident that Washington val¬
ued and respected education, and that he had that
regard for learning for its own sake which always
exists in large measure in every thoughtful man.
He read well, even if his active life prevented his
reading much, as we can see by his vigorous Eng-
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
109
lisli, and by his occasional allusions to history.
From his London orders we see, too, that every¬
thin 2“ about his house must have denoted that its
possessor had refinement and taste. His intense
sense of propriety and unfailing instinct for what
was appropriate are everywhere apparent. His
dress, his furniture, his harnesses, the things for
the children, all show the same fondness for sim¬
plicity, and yet a constant insistence that every¬
thing should be the best of its kind. We can learn
a good deal about any man by the ornaments of
his house, and by the portraits which hang on his
walls ; for these dumb things tell us whom among
the great men of earth the owner admires, and in¬
dicate the tastes he best loves to gratify. When
AYashington first settled with his wife at Mount
O
Vernon, he ordered from Europe the busts of
Alexander the Great, Charles XII. of Sweden,
Julius Caesar, Frederick of Prussia, Marlborough,
and Prince Eugene, and in addition he asked for
statuettes of “two wild beasts.” The combina¬
tion of soldier and statesman is the predominant
admiration, then comes the reckless and splendid
military adventurer, and lastly wild life and the
chase. There is no mistaking the ideas and fan¬
cies of the man who penned this order which has
drifted down to us from the past.
But as AVashington’s active life was largely out
of doors, so too were his pleasures. He loved the
fresh open - air existence of the woods and fields,
and there he found his one great amusement. He
no
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
shot and fished, hut did not care much for these
pursuits, for his hobby was hunting, which gratified
at once his passion for horses and dogs and his
love for the strong excitement of the chase, when
dashed with just enough danger to make it really
fascinating. He showed in his sport the same
thoroughness and love of perfection that lie dis¬
played in everything else. His stables were filled
with the best animals that Virginia could furnish.
There were the “ blooded coach-horses ” for Mrs.
Washington’s carriage, “Magnolia,” a full-blooded
Arabian, used by his owner for the road, the
ponies for the children, and finally, the high-bred
hunters Chinkling and Valiant, Ajax and Blue-
skin, and the rest, all duly set down in the register
in the handwriting of the master himself. His first
visit in the morning was to the stables. The next
to the kennels to inspect and criticise the hounds,
also methodically registered and described, so that
we can read the names of Vulcan and Ringwood,
Singer and Truelove, Music and Sweetlips, to
which the Virginian woods once echoed nearly a
century and a half ago. His hounds were the sub¬
ject of much thought, and were so constantly and
critically drafted as to speed, keenness, and bot¬
tom, that when in full cry they ran so closely
bunched that tradition says, in classic phrase, they
could have been covered with a blanket. The
hounds met three times a week in the season,
usually at Mount Vernon, sometimes at Belvoir.
They would get off at daybreak, Washington in
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
Ill
the midst of his hounds, splendidly mounted, gen¬
erally on his favorite Blueskin, a powerful iron-
gray horse of great speed and endurance. He wore
a blue coat, scarlet waistcoat, buckskin breeches,
and a velvet cap. Closely followed by his hunts¬
man and the neighboring gentlemen, with the
ladies, headed, very likely, by Mrs. Washington
in a scarlet habit, he would ride to the appointed
covert and throw in. There was no difficulty in
finding, and then away they would go, usually
after a gray fox, sometimes after a big black fox,
rarely to be caught. Most of the country was wild
and unfenced, rough in footing, and offering hard
and dangerous going for the horses, but Washing¬
ton always made it a rule to stay with his hounds.
Cautious or timid riders, if they were so minded,
could gallop along the w^ood roads with the ladies,
and content themselves with glimpses of the hunt,
but the master rode at the front. The fields, it is
to be feared, were sometimes small, but M^ashino-
ton hunted even if he had only his stepson or was
quite alone.
His diaries abound with allusions to the sport.
“ Went a-hunting with Jacky Custis, and catched
a fox after three hours chase ; found it in the
creek,” “ Mr. Bryan Fairfax, Mr. Grayson, and
Phil. Alexander came home by sunrise. Hunted
and catched a fox "with these, Lord Fairfax, his
brother, and Colonel Fairfax, all of whom, wdth
Mr. Fairfax and Mr. 'Wilson of England, dined
here.” Again, November 26th and 29th, “ Hunted
112 GEORGE WASHINGTON.
again with the same party.” “1768, Jan. 8th.
Hunting again with same company. Started a fox
and run him 4 hours. Took the hounds oft at
night.” “ Jan. 15. Shooting.” “ 16. At home all
day with cards ; it snowing.” “ 23. Eid to Muddy
Hole and directed paths to be cut for fox-hunting.”
“Feb. 12. Catched 2 foxes.” “Feb. 13. Catched
2 more foxes.” “Mar. 2. Catched fox with bob’d
tail and cut ears after 7 hours chase, in which most
of the dogs were worsted.” “Dec. 5. Fox-hunting
with Lord Fairfax and his brother and Colonel
Fairfax. Started a fox and lost it. Dined at
Belvoir and returned in the evening.” ^
So the entries run on, for he hunted almost every
day in the season, usually with success, but always
with persistence. Like all true sportsmen Wash¬
ington had a horror of illicit sport of any kind,
and although he shot comparatively little, he was
much annoyed by a vagabond who lurked in the
creeks and inlets on his estate, and slaughtered his
canvas-back ducks. Hearing the report of a gun
one morning, he rode through the bushes and saw
his poaching friend just shoving oft in a canoe.
The rascal raised his gun and covered his pursuer,
whereupon Washington, the cold-blooded and pa¬
tient person so familiar in the myths, dashed his
horse headlong into the water, seized the gun,
grasped the canoe, and dragging it ashore pulled
the man out of the boat and beat him soundly. If
the man had yielded at once he would probably
1 MS. Diaries in State Department.
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
113
have got off easily enough, hut when he put Wash¬
ington’s life in imminent peril, the wild fighting
spirit flared up as usual.
The hunting season was of course that of the
most lavish hospitality. There was always a great
deal of dining about, but Mount Vernon was the
chief resort, and its doors, ever open, were flung
far back when people came for a meet, or gathered
to talk over the events of a good run. Company
was the rule and solitude the exception. When
only the family were at dinner, the fact was written
down in the diary with great care as an unusual
event, for Washington was the soul of hospitality,
and although he kept early hours, he loved society
and a houseful of people. Profoundly reserved and
silent as to himself, a lover of solitude so far as
his own thoughts and feelings were concerned, he
was far from being a solitary man in the ordinary
acceptation of the word. He liked life and gayety
and conversation, he liked music and dancing or a
game of cards when the weather was bad, and he
enjoyed heartily the presence of young people and
of his own friends. So Mount Vernon was always
full of guests, and the master noted in his diary
that although he owned more than a hundred cows
he was obliged, nevertheless, to buy butter, which
suggests an experience not unknown to gentlemen
farmers of any period, and also that company was
never lacking in that generous, open house over¬
looking the Potomac.
Beyond the bounds of his own estate he had also
114
GEORGE WASH ING TON.
many occupations and pleasures. He was a mem¬
ber of the House of Burgesses, diligent in his at¬
tention to the work of governing the colony. He
was diligent also in church affairs, and very active
in the vestry, which was the seat of local govern¬
ment in Virginia. W e hear of him also as the man¬
ager of lotteries, which were a common form of rais¬
ing money for local purposes, in preference to direct
taxation. In a word, he was thoroughly public-spir¬
ited, and performed all the small duties which his
position demanded in the same spirit that he after¬
wards brought to the command of armies and to
the government of the nation. He had pleasure too,
as well as business, away from Mount Vernon. He
liked to go to his neighbors’ houses and enjoy their
hospitality as they enjoyed his. We hear of him
at the court-house on court days, where all the coun¬
tryside gathered to talk and listen to the lawyers
and hear the news, and when he went to Williams¬
burg his diary tells us of a round of dinners, begin¬
ning with the governor, of visits to the club, and of
a regular attendance at the theatre whenever actors
came to the little capital. Whether at home or
abroad, he took part in all the serious pursuits,
in all the interests, and in every reasonable pleasure
offered by the colony.
Take it for all in all, it was a manly, wholesome,
many-sided life. It kept Washington young and
strong, both mentally and physically. When he
was forty he flung the iron bar, at some village
sports, to a point which no competitor could aj)-
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
115
proacli. TLere was no man in all Virginia wlio
could ride a horse with such a powerful and assured
seat. There was no one who could journey farther
on foot, and no man at Williamsburg who showed
at the governor’s receptions such a commanding
presence, or who w^alked with such a graceful and
elastic step. As with the body so with the mind.
He never rusted. A practical carpenter and smith,
he brought the same quiet intelligence and firm
will to the forging of iron or the felling and sawing
of trees that he had displayed in fighting France,
The life of a country gentleman did not dull or
stupefy him, or lead him to gross indulgences.
He remained well-made and athletic, strong' and
enduring, keen in perception and in sense, and warm
in his feelings and affections. Many men would
have become heavy and useless in these years of
quiet country life, but Washington simply ripened,
and, like all slowly maturing men, grew stronger,
abler, and wiser in the happy years of rest and
waiting which intervened between youth and middle
age.
Meantime, while the current of daily life flowed
on thus gently at Mount Vernon, the great stream
of public events poured by outside. It ran very
calmly at first, after the war, and then with a
quickening murmur, which increased to an ominous
roar when the passage of the Stamp Act became
known in America. AVashington was always a
constant attendant at the assembly, in which by
sheer force of character, and despite his lack of
116
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the talking and debating faculty, he carried more
weight than any other member. He was present
on May 29, 1765, when Patrick Henry introduced
his famous resolutions and menaced the king’s
government in words which rang through the con¬
tinent. The resolutions were adopted, and Wash¬
ington went home, with many anxious thoughts,
to discuss the political outlook with his friend and
neighbor George Mason, one of the keenest and
ablest men in Virginia. The utter folly of the
policy embodied in the Stamp Act struck Washing¬
ton very forcibly. With that foresight for which
he was so remarkable, he perceived what scarcely
any one else even dreamt of, that persistence in
this course must surely lead to a violent separation
from the mother country, and it is interesting to note
in this, the first instance when he was called upon
to consider a political question of great magnitude,
his clearness of vision and grasp of mind. In what
he wrote there is no trace of the ambitious schemer,
no threatening nor blustering, no undue despond¬
ency nor excited hopes. But there is a calm under¬
standing of all the conditions, an entire freerdom
from self-deception, and the power of seeing facts
exactly as they were, which were all characteristic
of his intellectual strength, and to which we shall
need to recur again and again.
The repeal of the Stamp Act was received by
Washington with sober but sincere pleasure. He
had anticipated “ direful ” results and “ unhappy
consequences ” from its enforcement, and he freely
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
117
said that those who were iustrumental in its repeal
had his cordial thanks. He was no agitator, and
had not come forward in this affair, so he now re¬
tired again to Mount Yernon, to his farming and
hunting, where he remained, watching very closely
the progress of events. He had marked the dan¬
gerous reservation of the principle in the very act
of repeal ; he observed at Boston the gathering
strength of what the wise ministers of George HI.
called sedition ; he noted the arrival of British
troops in the rebellious Puritan town ; and he saw
plainly enough, looming in the background, the
final appeal to arms. He wrote to Mason (April
5, 1769), that “ at a time when our lordly masters
in Great Britain will be satisfied with nothing less
than the deprivation of American freedom, some¬
thing should be done to avert the stroke and main¬
tain the liberty which we have derived from our
ancestors. But the manner of doing it, to answer
the purpose effectually, is the point in question.
That no man should scruple or hesitate a moment
to use arms in defence of so valuable a blessing is
clearly my opinion. Yet arms, I would beg leave
to add, should be the last resource, the dernier res-
sort.^' He then urged the adoption of the only
middle course, non-importation, but he had not
much hope in this expedient, although an honest
desire is evident that it may prove effectual.
When the assembly met in May, they received
the new governor. Lord Botetourt, with much
cordiality, and then fell to passing spirited and
118
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
sharp-spoken resolutions declaring their own rights
and defending Massachusetts. The result was a
dissolution. Thereupon the burgesses repaired to
the Raleigh tavern, where they adopted a set of
non-importation resolutions and formed an associa¬
tion. The resolutions were offered by Washing¬
ton, and were the result of his quiet country talks
with Mason. When the moment for action ar¬
rived, Washington came naturally to the front,
and then returned quietly to Mount Vernon, once
more to go about his business and watch the threat¬
ening political horizon. . Virginia did not live
up to this first non-importation agreement, and
formed another a year later. But Washington
was not in the habit of presenting resolutions
merely for effect, and there was nothing of the
actor in his composition. His resolutions meant
business, and he lived up to them rigidly himself.
Neither tea nor any of the proscribed articles were
allowed in his house. Most of the leaders did not
realize the seriousness of the situation, but Wash¬
ington, looking forward with clear and sober gaze,
. was in grim earnest, and was fully conscious that
when he offered his resolutions the colony was try¬
ing the last peaceful remedy, and that the next step
would be war.
Still he went calmly about his many affairs as
usual, and gratified the old passion for the frontier
by a journey to Pittsburgh for the sake of lands
and soldiers’ claims, and thence down the Ohio and
into the wilderness with his old friends the trap-
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
119
pers and pioneers. He visited the Indian villages
as in the days of the French mission, and noted in
the savages an ominous restlessness, which seemed,
like the flight of birds, to express the dumb instinct
of an approaching storm. The clouds broke away
somewhat under the kindly management of Lord
Botetourt, and then gathered again more thickly
on the accession of his successor. Lord Dunmore.
With both these gentlemen Washington was on
the most friendly terms. He visited them often,
and was consulted by them, as it behooved them to
consult the strongest man within the limits of their
government. Still he waited and watched, and
scanned carefully the news from the North. Be¬
fore long he heard that tea-chests were floating in
Boston harbor, and then from across the water
came intelligence of the passage of the Port Bill
and other measures destined to crush to earth the
little rebel town.
When the Virginia assembly met again, they
proceeded to congratulate the governor on the ar¬
rival of Lady Dunmore, and then suddenly, as all
was flowing smoothly along, there came a letter
through the corresponding committee which Wash¬
ington had helped to establish, telling of the meas¬
ures against Boston. Everything else was thrown
aside at once, a vigorous protest was entered on
the journal of the House, and June 1st, when the
Port Bill was to go into operation, was appointed
a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer. The
first result was prompt dissolution of the assem-
120
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
bly. The next was another meeting in the long
room of the Raleigh tavern, where the Boston hill
was denounced, non-importation renewed, and the
committee of correspondence instructed to take
steps for calling a general congress. Events were
beginning to move at last with perilous rapidity.
Washington dined with Lord Dunmore on the
evening of that day, rode with him, and appeared
at her ladyshij)’s ball the next night. It was not
his way to bite his thumb at men from whom he
differed politically, nor to call the motives of his
opponents in question. But when the 1st of June
arrived, he noted in his diary that he fasted all day
and attended the appointed services. He always
meant what he said, being of a simple nature, and
when he fasted and prayed there was something
ominously earnest about it, something that his
excellency the governor, who liked the society of
this agreeable man and wise counsellor, would have
done well to consider and draw conclusions from,
and which he probably did not heed at all. He
might well have reflected, as he undoubtedly failed
to do, that when men of the George Washington
type fast and pray on account of political mis¬
doings, it is well for their opponents to look to it
carefully.
Meantime Boston had sent forth appeals to form
a league among the colonies, and thereupon an¬
other meeting was held in the Raleigh tavern, and
a letter was dispatched advising the burgesses to
consider this matter of a general league and take
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
121
the sense of their respective counties. Virginia and
Massachusetts had joined hands now, and they
were sweeping the rest of the continent irresisti¬
bly forward with them. As for Washington, he
returned to Mount Vernon and at once set about
taking the sense of his county, as he had agreed.
Before doing so he had some correspondence with
his old friend Bryan Fairfax. The Fairfaxes nat¬
urally sided with the mother-country, and Bryan
was much distressed by the course of Virginia,
and remonstrated strongly, and at length by letter,
against violent measures. Washington replied to
him : “ Does it not appear as clear as the sun in its
meridian brightness that there is a regular, system¬
atic plan formed to fix the right and practice of
taxation on us ? Does not the uniform conduct of
Parliament for some years past confirm this ? Do
not all the debates, especially those just brought to
us in the House of Commons, on the side of gov¬
ernment expressly declare that America must be
taxed in aid of the British funds, and that she has
no longer resources within herself? Is there any¬
thing to be expected from petitioning after this ? Is
not the attack upon the liberty and property of the
people of Boston, before restitution of the loss to
the India Company was demanded, a plain and self-
evident proof of what they are aiming at ? Do
not the subsequent bills (now I dare say aets) for
depriving the Massachusetts Bay of its charter,
and for transporting offenders into other eolonies,
or to Great Britain for trial, where it is impossible
122
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
from the nature of the thing that justice can be
obtained, convince us that the administration is
determined to stick at nothing to carry its point ?
Ought we not, then, to put our virtue and fortitude
to the severest test ? ” He was prepared, he con¬
tinued, for anything except confiscating British
debts, which struck him as dishonorable. These
were plain but pregnant questions, but what we
mark in them, and in all his letters of this time,
is the absence of constitutional discussion, of which
America was then full. They are confined to a
direct presentation of the broad political question,
which underlay everything. Washington always
went straight to the mark, and he now saw, through
all the dust of legal and constitutional strife, that
the only real issue was whether America was to be
allowed to govern herself in her own way or not.
In the acts of the ministry he perceived a policy
which aimed at substantial power, and he believed
that such a policy, if insisted on, could have but
one result.
The meeting of Fairfax County was held in due
course, and W ashington presided. The usual reso¬
lutions for self-government and against the vindic¬
tive Massachusetts measures were adopted. Union
and non-importation were urged ; and then the
congress, which they advocated, was recommended
to address a petition and remonstrance to the king,
and ask him to reflect that “ from our sovereign
there can be but one appeal.” Everything was to
be tried, everything was to be done, but the ultk
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
123
mate appeal was never lost sight of where Wash¬
ington appeared, and the final sentence of these
Fairfax County resolves is very characteristic of the
leader in the meeting. Two days later he wrote
to the worthy and still remonstrating Bryan Fair¬
fax, repeating and enlarging his former questions,
and adding: “Has not General Gage’s conduct
since his arrival, in stopping the address of his
council, and publishing a proclamation more be¬
coming a Turkish bashaw than an English gover¬
nor, declaring it treason to associate in any man¬
ner by which the commerce of Great Britain is to
be affected, — has not this exhibited an unexampled
testimony of the most despotic system of tyranny
that ever was practised in a free government ? . . .
Shall we after this whine and cry for relief, when
we have already tried it in vain? Or shall we
supinely sit and see one province after another fall
a sacrifice to despotism ? ” The fighting spirit of
the man was rising. There was no rash rushing
forward, no ignorant shouting for war, no blinking
of the real issue, but a foresight that nothing could
dim, and a perception of facts which nothing could
confuse.
On August 1st Washington was at Williams¬
burg, to represent his county in the meeting of
representatives from all Virginia. The conven¬
tion passed resolutions like the Fairfax resolves,
and chose delegates to a general congress. The
silent man was now warming into action. He
“ made the most eloquent speech that ever was
124
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
made,” and said, “I will raise a thousand men, sub¬
sist them at my own expense, and march them to
the relief of Boston.” He was capable, it would
seem, of talking to the purpose, with some fire and
force, for all he was so quiet and so retiring. When
there was anything to say, he could say it so that
it stirred all who listened, because they felt that
there was a mastering strength behind the words.
He faced the terrible issue solemnly and firmly, but
his blood was up, the fighting spirit in him was
aroused, and the convention chose him as one of
Virginia’s six delegates to the Continental Con¬
gress. He lingered long enough to make a few
preparations at Mount Vernon. He wrote another
letter to Fairfax, interesting to us as showing the
keenness with which he read in the meagre news-
reports the character of Gage and of the opposing
people of Massachusetts. Then he started for the
North to take the first step on the long and diffi¬
cult path that lay before him.
CHAPTER V.
TAKING COMMAND.
In the warm days of closing August, a party of
three gentlemen rode away from Mount Vernon one
morning, and set out upon their long journey to
Philadelphia. One cannot help wondering whether
a tender and somewhat sad remembrance did not
rise in Washington’s mind, as he thought of the
last time he had gone northward, nearly twenty
years before. Then, he was a light-hearted young
soldier, and he and his aides, albeit they went on
business, rode gayly through the forests, lighting
the road with the bright colors they wore and with
the glitter of lace and arms, while they anticipated
all the pleasures of youth in the new lands they
were to visit. Now, he was in the prime of man¬
hood, looking into the future with prophetic eyes,
and sober as was his wont when the shadow of com¬
ing responsibility lay dark upon his path. With
him went Patrick Henry, four years his junior, and
Edmund Pendleton, now past threescore. They
were all quiet and grave enough, no doubt; but
Washington, we may believe, was gravest of all,
because, being the most truthful of men to him¬
self as to others, he saw more plainly what was
coming. So they made their journey to the North,
126
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
and on the memorable 5th of September they met
with their brethren from the other colonies in Car¬
penters’ Hall in Philadelphia.
The Congress sat fifty-one days, occupied with
debates and discussion. Few abler, more honest,
or more memorable bodies of men have ever as¬
sembled to settle the fate of nations. Much de¬
bate, great and earnest in all directions, resulted
in a declaration of colonial rights, in an address to
the king, in another to the people of Canada, and
a third to the people of Great Britain ; masterly
state papers, seldom surpassed, and extorting even
then the admiration of England. In these debates
and state papers Washington took no part that is
now apparent on the face of the record. He was
silent in the Congress, and if he w^as consulted, as
he unquestionably was by the committees, there is
no record of it now. The simple fact was that his
time had not come. He saw men of the most
acute minds, liberal in education, patriotic in heart,
trained in law and in history, doing the work of
the moment in the best possible way. If anything
had been done wrongly, or had been left undone,
Washington would have found his voice quickly
enough, and uttered another of the “ most eloquent
speeches ever made,” as he did shortly before in
the Virginia convention. He could speak in public
when need was, but now there was no need and
nothing to arouse him. The work of Congress
followed the line of policy adopted by the Virginia
convention, and that had proceeded along the path
TAKING COMMAND.
127
marked out in the Fairfax resolves, so that Wash¬
ington could not be other than content. He occu¬
pied his own time, as we see by notes in his diary,
in visiting the delegates from the other colonies,
and in informing himself as to their ideas and pur¬
poses, and those of the people whom they repre¬
sented. He was quietly working for the future,
the present being well taken care of. Yet this si¬
lent man, going hither and thither, and chatting
pleasantly with this member or that, was in some
way or other impressing himself deeply on all the
delegates, for Patrick Henry said : “If you speak
of solid information and sound judgment. Colonel
Washington is unquestionably the greatest man on
the floor.”
We have a letter, written at just this time, which
shows us how Washington felt, and we see again
how his spirit rose as he saw more and more clearly
that the ultimate issue was inevitable. The letter
is addressed to Captain Mackenzie, a British officer
at Boston, and an old friend. “ Permit me,” he
began, “ with the freedom of a friend (for you
know I always esteemed you), to express my sor¬
row that fortune should place you in a service that
must fix curses to the latest posterity upon the
contrivers, and, if success (which, by the by, is im¬
possible) accompanies it, execrations upon all those
who have been instrumental in the execution.”
This was rather uncompromising talk and not over
peaceable, it must be confessed. He continued :
“ Give me leave to add, and I think 1 can
an-
128
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
nounce it as a fact, that it is not the wish or intent
of that government [Massachusetts], or any other
upon this continent, separately or collectively, to
set up for independence ; but this you may at the
same time rely on, that none of them will ever sub¬
mit to the loss of those valuable rights and privi¬
leges which are essential to the happiness of every
free state, and without which life, liberty, and
property are rendered totally insecure. . . . Again
give me leave to add as my opinion that more
blood will be spilled on this occasion, if the minis¬
try are determined to push matters to extremity,
than history has ever yet furnished instances of
in the annals of North America, and such a vital
wound will be given to the peace of this great coun¬
try, as time itself cannot cure or eradicate the re¬
membrance of.” Washington was not a political
agitator like Sam Adams, planning with unerring
intelligence to bring about independence. On the
contrary, he rightly declared that independence was
not desired. But although he believed in exhaust¬
ing every argument and every peaceful remedy, it
is evident that he felt that there now could be but
one result, and that violent separation from the
mother country was inevitable. Here is where he
differed from his associates and from the erreat
mass of the people, and it is to this entire veracity
of mind that his wisdom and foresight were so
largely due, as well as his success when the time
came for him to put his hand to the plough.
TAKING COMMAND.
129
When Congress adjourned, Washington returned
to Mount Vernon, to the pursuits and pleasures that
he loved, to his family and farm, and to his horses
and hounds, with whom he had many a good run,
the last that he was to enjoy for years to come.
He returned also to wait and watch as before, and
to see war rapidly gather in the east. When the
Virginia convention again assembled, resolutions
were introduced to arm and discipline men, and
Henry declared in their support that an “ appeal
to arms and to the God of Hosts ” was all that
was left. Washington said nothing, but he served
on the committee to draft a plan of defence, and
then fell to reviewing the independent companies
which were springing up everywhere. At the same
time he wrote to his brother John, who had raised
a troop, that he would accept the command of it if
desired, as it was his “ full intention to devote his
life and fortune in the cause we are engaged in, if
needful.” At Mount Vernon his old comrades of
the French war began to appear, in search of cour¬
age and sympathy. Thither, too, came Charles
Lee, a typical military adventurer of that period,
a man of English birth and of varied service,
brilliant, whimsical, and unbalanced. There also
came Horatio Gates, likewise British, and disap¬
pointed with his prospects at home ; less adventur¬
ous than Lee, but also less brilliant, and not much
more valuable.
Thus the winter wore away ; spring opened,
and toward the end of April Washington started
130
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
again for the North, much occupied with certain tid¬
ings from Lexington and Concord which just then
spread over the land. He saw all that it meant
plainly enough, and after noting the fact that the
colonists fought and fought well, he wrote to
George Fairfax in England : “ Unhappy it is to
reflect that a brother’s sword has been sheathed
in a brother s breast, and that the once happy
and peaceful plains of America are either to be
drenched in blood or inhabited by slaves. Sad al¬
ternative. But can a virtuous man hesitate in his
choice ? ” Congress, it would seem, thought there
was a good deal of room for hesitation, both for
virtuous men and others, and after the fashion of
their race determined to do a little more debat¬
ing and arguing, before taking any decisive step.
After much resistance and discussion, a second
humble and dutiful petition ” to the king was
adopted, and with strange contradiction a confeder¬
ation was foimed at the same time, and Congress
proceeded to exercise the sovereign powers thus
vested in them. The most pressing and trouble¬
some question before them was what to do with the
army surrounding Boston, and with the actual hos¬
tilities there existing.
Washington, for his part, went quietly about as
before, saying nothing and observing much, work-
ing hard as chairman of the military committees,
planning for defence, and arranging for raising an
army. One act of his alone stands out for us with
significance at this critical time. In this second
TAKING COMMAND.
131
Congress lie appeared habitually on the floor in his
blue and buff uniform of a Virginia colonel. It
was his way of saying that the hour for action had
come, and that he at least was ready for the fight
whenever called upon.
Presently he was summoned. IVeary of waiting,
John Adams at last declared that Congress must
adopt the army and make Washington, who at this
mention of his name stepped out of the room,
commander-in-chief. On June 15th, formal mo¬
tions were made to this effect and unanimously
adopted, and the next day Washington appeared
before Congress and accepted the trust. His words
were few and simple. He expressed his sense of
his own insufficiency for the task before him, and
said that as no pecuniary consideration could have
induced him to undertake the work, he must decline
all pay or emoluments, only looking to Congress to
defray his expenses. In the same spirit he wrote
to his soldiers in Virginia, to his brother, and
finally, in terms at once simple and pathetic, to his
wife. There was no pretence about this, but the
sternest reality of self-distrust, for W'ashington
saw and measured as did no one else the magni¬
tude of the work before him. He knew that he
was about to face the best troops of Europe, and
he had learned by experience that after the first ex¬
citement was over he would be obliged to rely upon
a people brave and patriotic, it is true, but undis¬
ciplined, untrained, and unprepared for war, with¬
out money, without arms, without allies or credit.
132
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
and torn by selfish local interests. Nobody else
perceived all this as he was able to with his mastery
of facts, but he faced the duty unflinchingly. He
did not put it aside because he distrusted himself,
for in his truthfulness he could not but confess
that no other American could show one tithe of his
capacity, experience, or military service. He knew
what was coming, knew it, no doubt, when he first
put on his uniform, and he accepted instantly.
John Adams in his autobiography speaks of the
necessity of choosing a Southern general, and also
says there v/ere objectors to the selection of Wash¬
ington even among the Virginia delegates. That
there were political reasons for taking a Virginian
cannot be doubted. But the dissent, even if it ex¬
isted, never appeared on the surface, excepting in
the case of John Hancock, who, with curious van¬
ity, thought that he ought to have this great place.
When Washington’s name was proposed there was
no murmur of opposition, for there was no man
who could for one moment be compared with him
in fitness. The choice was inevitable, and he him¬
self felt it to be so. He saw it coming ; he would
fain have avoided the great task, but no thought of
shrinking crossed his mind. He saw with his en¬
tire freedom from constitutional subtleties that an
absolute parliament sought to extend its power to
the colonies. To this he would not submit, and he
knew that this was a question which could be set¬
tled only by one side giving way, or by the dread
appeal to arms. It was a question of fact, hard,
TAKING COMMAND,
133
unrelenting fact, now to be determined by battle,
and on him had fallen the burden of sustaining the
cause of his country. In this spirit he accepted his
commission, and rode forth to review the troops.
He was greeted with loud acclaim wherever he ap¬
peared. Mankind is impressed by externals, and
those who gazed upon Washington in the streets of
Philadelphia felt their courage rise and their hearts
grow strong at the sight of his virile, muscular
figure as he passed before them on horseback,
stately, dignified, and self-contained. The people
looked upon him, and were confident that this was
a man worthy and able to dare and do all things.
On J une 21st he set forth accompanied by Lee
and Schuyler, and with a brilliant escort. He had
ridden but twenty miles when he was met by the
news of Bunker Hill. “ Did the militia fioht? ”
O
was the immediate and characteristic question; and
being told that they did fight, he exclaimed, “ Then
the liberties of the country are safe.” Given the
fighting spirit, W ashington felt he could do any¬
thing. Full of this important intelligence he
pressed forward to Newark, where he was received
by a committee of the provincial congress, sent to
conduct the commander-in-chief to New York.
There he tarried long enough to appoint Schuyler
to the charge of the military affairs in that colony,
having mastered on the journey its complicated so¬
cial and political conditions. Pushing on through
Connecticut he reached Watertown, where he was
received by the provincial congress of Massachu-
134
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
setts, on J Illy 2d, witli every expression of attacli-
ment and confidence. Lingering less than an hour
for this ceremony, he rode on to the headquarters at
Cambridge, and when he came within the lines the
shouts of the soldiers and the booming of cannon
announced his arrival to the English in Boston.
The next day he rode forth in the presence of a
great multitude, and the troops having been drawn
up before him, he drew his sword beneath the his¬
torical elm-tree, and took command of the first
American army. “ His excellency,” wrote Dr.
Thatcher in his journal, “ was on horseback in
company with several military gentlemen. It was
not difficult to distinguish him from all others.
He is tall and well proportioned, and his personal
appearance truly noble and majestic.” “ He is tall
and of easy and agreeable address,” the loyalist
Curwen had remarked a few weeks before ; while
Mrs. John Adams, warm-hearted and clever, wrote
to her husband after the general’s arrival : “ Dig¬
nity, ease, and complacency, the gentleman and the
soldier, look agreeably blended in him. Modesty
marks every line and feature of his face. Those
lines of Dry den instantly occurred to me, —
‘ Mark his majestic fahrie ! He ’s a temple
Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine ;
His soul ’s the deity that lodges there ;
Nor is the pile unworthy of the God.’ ”
Lady, lawyer, and surgeon, patriot and tory, all
speak alike, and as they wrote so New England
felt. A slave-owner, an aristocrat, and a church-
TAKING COMMAND.
135
man, Washington came to Cambridge to pass over
the heads of native generals to the command of a
New England army, among a democratic people,
hard-working and simple in their lives, and dissent¬
ers to the backbone, who regarded episcopacy as
something little short of papistry and quite equiva¬
lent to toryism. Yet the shout that went up from
soldiers and people on Cambridge common on that
pleasant July morning came from the heart and
had no jarring note. A few of the political chiefs
growled a little in later days at Washington, but
the soldiers and the people, high and low, rich and
poor, gave him an unstinted loyalty. On the fields
of battle and throughout eight years of political
strife the men of New England stood by the great
Virginian with a devotion and truth in which was
no shadow of turning. Here again we see exhibited
most conspicuously the powerful personality of the
man who was able thus to command immediately
the allegiance of this naturally cold and reserved
people. What was it that they saw that inspired
them at once with so much confidence? They looked
upon a tall, handsome man, dressed in plain uni¬
form, wearing across his breast a broad blue band
of silk, which some may have noticed as the badge
and symbol of a certain solemn league and cove¬
nant once very momentous in the English-speaking
world. They saw his calm, high bearing, and in
every line of face and figure they beheld the signs
of force and courage. Yet there must have been
something more to call forth the confidence then
136
GEORGE WASHINGTON,
SO quickly given, and which no one ever long with¬
held. All felt dimly, but none the less surely, that
here was a strong, able man, capable of rising to
the emergency, whatever it might be, capable of
continued growth and development, clear of head
and warm of heart ; and so the New England peo¬
ple gave to him instinctively their sympathy and
their faith, and never took either back.
The shouts and cheers died away, and then
Washington returned to his pleasant quarters in
the Craigie house, to master the task before him.
The first great test of his courage and ability had
come, and he faced it quietly as the excitement
caused by his arrival passed by. He saw before
him, to use his own words, “ a mixed multitude of
people, under very little discipline, order, or govern¬
ment.” In the language of one of his aides A “The
entire army, if it deserved the name, was but an
assemblage of brave, enthusiastic, undisciplined,
country lads ; the officers in general quite as igno¬
rant of military life as the troops, excepting a few
elderly men, who had seen some irregular service
among the provincials under Lord Amherst.” With
this force, ill-posted and very insecurely fortified,
Washington was to drive the British from Boston.
His first step was to count his men, and it took eight
days to get the necessary returns, which in an ordi¬
nary army would have been furnished in an hour.
When he had them, he found that instead of twenty
thousand, as had been represented, but fourteen
^ John Trumbull, Reminiscences, p. 18.
TAKING COMMAND.
137
thousand soldiers were actually present for duty. In
a short time, however, Mr. Emerson, the chaplain,
noted in his diary that it was surprising how much
had been done, and that the lines had been so ex¬
tended, and the works so shrewdly built, that it was
morally impossible for the enemy to get out except
in one place purposely left open. A little later the
same observer remarked : “ There is a great over¬
turning in the camp as to order and regularity ;
new lords, new laws. The Generals Washington
and Lee are upon the lines every day. The strict¬
est government is taking place, and great distinc¬
tion is made between officers and soldiers.” Bodies
of troops scattered here and there by chance were
replaced by well-distributed forces, posted wisely
and effectively in strong intrenchments. It is little
wonder that the worthy chaplain was impressed,
and now, seeing it all from every side, we too can
watch order come out of chaos and mark the growth
of an army under the guidance of a master-mind
and the steady pressure of an unbending will.
Then too there was no discipline, for the army
was composed of raw militia, who elected their
officers and carried on war as they pleased. In
a passage suppressed by Mr. Sparks, Washington
said : “ There is no such thing as getting officers of
this stamp to carry orders into execution — to curry
favor with the men (by whom they were chosen,
and on whose smile they may possibly think that
they may again rely) seems to be one of the prin¬
cipal objects of their attention. I have made a
138
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
pretty good slam amongst such kind of officers as
the Massachusetts government abounds in, since I
came into this camp, having broke one colonel and
two captains for cowardly behavior in the action
on Bunker Hill, two captains for drawing more pay
and provisions than they had men in their company,
and one for being absent from his post when the
enemy appeared there and burnt a house just by it.
Besides these I have at this time one colonel, one
major, one captain, and two subalterns under arrest
for tiial. In short, I spare none, and yet fear it
will not all do, as these people seem to be too
attentive to everything but their own interests.”
This may be plain and homely in phrase, but it is
not stilted, and the quick energy of the words
shows how the New England farmers and fisher¬
men were being rapidly brought to discipline.
Bringing the army into order, however, was but a
small part of his duties. It is necessary to run
over all his difficulties, great and small, at this time,
and count them up, in order to gain a just idea of
the foice and capacity of the man who overcame
them.
Washington, moreover, was obliged to deal not
only with his army, but with the general congress
and the congress of the province. He had to teach
them, utterly ignorant as they were of the needs
and details of war, how to organize and supply their
armies. There was no commissary department,
there were no uniforms, no arrangements for am¬
munition, no small arms, no cannon, no resources
TAKING COMMAND.
139
to draw upon for all these necessaries of war. Lit¬
tle by little he taught Congress to provide after a
fashion for these things, little by little he developed
what he needed, and by his own ingenuity, and by
seizing alertly every suggestion from others, he
supplied for better or worse one deficiency after
another. He had to deal with various governors
and various colonies, each with its prejudices, jeal¬
ousies, and shortcomings. He had to arrange for
new levies from a ]30ople unused to war, and to
settle with infinite anxiety and much wear and tear
of mind and body, the conflict as to rank among
officers to whom he could apply no test but his
own insight. He had to organize and stimulate
the arming of privateers, which, by preying on
British commerce, were destined to exercise such a
powerful influence on the fate of the war. It was
neither showy nor attractive, such work as this, but
it was very vital, and it was done.
By the end of July the army was in a better
posture of defence, and then at the beofinninsr of
the next month, as the prospect was brightening,
it was suddenly discovered that there was no gun¬
powder. An undrilled army, imperfectly organized,
was facing a disciplined force and had only some
nine rounds in the cartridge-boxes. Yet there is no
quivering in the letters from headquarters. Anx¬
iety and strain of nerve are apparent ; but a resolute
determination rises over all, supported by a ready
fertility of resource. Couriers flew over the coun¬
try asking for powder in every town and in every
140
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
village. A vessel was even dispatched to the Ber¬
mudas to seize there a supply of powder, of which
the general, always listening, had heard. Thus
the immediate and grinding pressure was presently
relieved, but the staple of war still remained piti¬
fully and perilously meagre all through the winter.
Meantime, while thus overwhelmed with the cares
immediately about him, Washington was watch¬
ing the rest of the country. He had a keen eye
upon Johnson and his Indians in the valley of the
Mohawk ; he followed sharply every movement of
Tryon and the Tories in New York ; he refused
with stern good sense to detach troops to Con¬
necticut and Long Island, knowing well when to
give and when to say No, a difficult monosyllable
for the new general of freshly revolted colonies.
But if he would not detach in one place, he was
ready enough to do so in another. He sent one
expedition by Lake Champlain, under Montgom¬
ery, to Montreal, and gave Arnold picked troops
to march through the wilds of Maine and strike
Quebec. The scheme was bold and brilliant, both
in conception and in execution, and came very
near severing Canada forever from the British
crown. A chapter of little accidents, each one of
which proved as fatal as it was unavoidable, a mo¬
ment s delay on the Plains of Abraham, and the
whole campaign failed ; but there was a grasp of
conditions, a clearness of perception, and a com¬
prehensiveness about the plan, which stamp it as
the work of a great soldier, who saw besides the
TAKING COMMAND. 141
military importance, tlie enormous political value
held out by the chance o£ such a victory.
The daring, far-reaching quality of this Cana¬
dian expedition was much more congenial to Wash¬
ington’s temper and character than the wearing
work of the siege. All that man could do before
Boston was done, and still Congress expected the
impossible, and grumbled because without ships
he did not secure the harbor. He himself, while
he inwardly resented such criticism, chafed under
the monotonous drudgery of the intrenchments.
He was longing, according to his nature, to fight,
and was, it must be confessed, quite ready to at¬
tempt the impossible in his own way. Early in
September he proposed to attack the town in boats
and by the neck of land at Roxbury, but the coun¬
cil of officers unanimously voted against him. A
little more than a month later he planned another
attack, and was again voted down by his officers.
Councils of war never fight, it is said, and perhaps
in this case it was well that such was their habit,
for the schemes look rather desperate now. To us
they serve to show the temper of the man, and also
his self-control, for Washington was ready enough
to override councils when wholly free from doubt
himself.
Thus the planning of campaigns, both distant
and near, went on, and at the same time the cur¬
rent of details, difficult, vital, absolute in demand¬
ing prompt and vigorous solution, went on too.
The existence of war made it necessary to settle
142
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
our relations with our enemies, and that these rela¬
tions should be rightly settled was of vast moment
to our cause, struggling for recognition. The first
question was the matter of prisoners, and on Au¬
gust 11th Washington wrote to Gage : —
“ I understand that the officers engaged in the
cause of liberty and their country, who by the for¬
tune of war have fallen into your hands, have been
thrown indiscriminately into a common gaol ap¬
propriated for felons ; that no consideration has
been had for those of the most respectable rank,
when languishing with wounds and sickness ; and
that some have been even amputated in this un¬
worthy situation.
“ Let your opinion, sir, of the principle which
actuates them be what it may, they suppose that
they act from the noblest of all principles, a love
of freedom and their country. But political prin¬
ciples, I conceive, are foreign to this point. The
obligations arising from the rights of humanity
and claims of rank are universally binding and
extensive, except in case of retaliation. These, I
should have hoped, would have dictated a more
tender treatment of those individuals whom chance
or war had put in your power. Nor can I forbear
suggesting its fatal tendency to widen that un-
happy breach which you, and those ministers un¬
der whom you act, have repeatedly declared your
wish is to see forever closed.
“ My duty now makes it necessary to apprise
you, that for the future I shall regulate all my
TAKING COMMAND.
143
conduct towards those gentlemen who are or may
be in our possession, exactly by the rule you shall
observe towards those o£ ours now in your custody.
“ If severity and hardship mark the line of your
conduct, painful as it may be to me, your prisoners
will feel its effects. But if kindness and humanity
are shown to ours, I shall with pleasure consider
those in our hands only as unfortunate, and they
shall receive from me that treatment to which the
unfortunate are ever entitled.”
This is a letter worthy of a little study. The
affair does not look very important now, but it
went then to the roots of things ; for this letter
would go out to the world, and America and the
American cause would be judged by their leader.
A little bluster or ferocity, any fine writing, or any
absurdity, and the world would have sneered, con¬
demned, or laughed. But no man could read this
letter and fail to perceive that here was dignity
and force, justice and sense, with just a touch of
pathos and eloquence to recommend it to the heart.
Men might differ with the writer, but they could
neither laugh at him nor set him aside.
Gage replied after his kind. He was an incon¬
siderable person, dull and well meaning, intended
for the command of a garrison town, and terribly
twisted and torn by the great events in which he
was momentarily caught. His masters were stupid
and arrogant, and he imitated them with 2:)erfect
success, except that arrogance with him dwindled
to impertinence. He answered Washington’s letter
144
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
witli denials and recriminations, lectured tlie Amer¬
ican general on the political situation, and talked
about “ usurped authority,” “ rebels,” “ criminals,”
and persons destined to the “ cord.” Washington,
being a man of his word, proceeded to put some
English prisoners into jail, and then wrote a sec¬
ond note, giving Gage a little lesson in manners,
with the vain hope of making him see that gentle^
men did not scold and vituperate because they
fought. He restated his case calmly and coolly,
as before, informed Gage that he had investigated
the counter-charge of cruelty and found it without
any foundation, and then continued : “You advise
me to give free operation to truth, and to punish
misrepresentation and falsehood. If experience
stamps value upon counsel, yours must have a
weight which few can claim. You best can tell
how far the convulsion, which has brought such ruin
on both countries, and shaken the mighty empire
of Britain to its foundation, may be traced to these
malignant causes.
“You affect, sir, to despise all rank not derived
from the same source with your own. I cannot
conceive one more honorable than that which flows
from the uncorrupted choice of a brave and free
people, the purest source and original fountain of
all powder. Far from making it a plea for cruelty,
a mind of true magnanimity and enlarged ideas
w^ould comprehend and respect it.”
AYashington had grasped instinctively the gen¬
eral truth that Englishmen are prone to mistake
TAKING COMMAND.
145
civility for servility, and become offensive, whereas
if they are treated with indifference, rebuke, or even
rudeness, they are apt to be respectful and polite.
He was obliged to go over the same ground with
Sir William Howe, a little later, and still more
sharply ; and this matter of prisoners recurred, al¬
though at longer and longer intervals, throughout
the war. But as the British generals saw their
officers go to jail, and found that their impudence
and assumption were met by keen reproofs, they
gradually comprehended that Washington was not
a man to be trifled with, and that in him was a
pride and dignity out-topping theirs and far strong¬
er, because grounded on responsibility borne and
work done, and on the deep sense of a great and
righteous cause.
It was probably a pleasure and a relief to give
to Gage and Sir William Howe a little instruction
in military behavior and general good manners, but
there was nothing save infinite vexation in dealing
with the difficulties arising on the American side
of the line. As the days shortened and the leaves
fell, Washington saw before him a New England
winter, with no clothing and no money for his
troops. Through long letters to Congress, and
strenuous personal efforts, these w^ants were some¬
how supplied. Then the men began to get restless
and homesick, and both privates and officers would
disappear to their farms, which Washington, al¬
ways impatient of wrongdoing, styled “ base and
pernicious conduct,” and punished accordingly.
146
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
By and by the terms of enlistment ran out and
the regiments began to melt away even before the
proper date. Kecruiting was carried on slowly
and with difficulty, new levies were tardy in com¬
ing in, and Congress could not be persuaded to
stop limited enlistments. Still the task was done.
The old army departed and a new one arose in its
place, the posts were strengthened and ammunition
secured.
Among these reinforcements came some Virginia
riflemen, and it must have warmed IVashington’s
heart to see once more these brave and hardy fight¬
ers in the familiar hunting shirt and leggings.
They certainly made him warm in a very differ¬
ent sense by getting into a rough-and-tumble fight
one winter s day with some Marblehead fishermen.
The quarrel was at its height, when suddenly into
the brawl rode the commander-in-chief. He quickly
dismounted, seized two of the combatants, shook
them, berated them, if tradition may be trusted,
for their local jealousies, and so with strong arm
quelled the disturbance. He must have longed to
take more than one colonial governor or magnate
by the throat and shake him soundly, as he did his
soldiers from the woods of Virginia and the rocks
of Marblehead, for to his temper there was noth¬
ing so satisfying as rapid and decisive action. But
he could not quell governors and assemblies in this
way, and yet he managed them and got what he
wanted with a patience and tact which it must have
been in the last degree trying to him to practise.
TAKING COMMAND. 147
gifted as he was with a nature at once masterful
and passionate.
Another trial was brought about by his securing
and sending out privateers which did good service.
They brought in many valuable prizes which caused
infinite trouble, and forced Washington not only to
be a piaval secretary, but also made him a species
of admiralty judge. He implored the slow-moving
Congress to relieve him from this burden, and sug¬
gested a plan which led to the formation of spe¬
cial committees and was the origin of the Federal
judiciary of the United States. Besides the local
jealousies and the personal jealousies, and the pri¬
vateers and their prizes, he had to meet also the
greed and selfishness as well of the money-making,
stock-jobbing spirit which springs up rankly under
the influence of army contracts and large expendi¬
tures among a people accustomed to trade and
unused to war. Washington wrote savagely of
these practices, but still, despite all hindrances and
annoyances, he kej)t moving straight on to his ob¬
ject.
In the midst of his labors, harassed and tried
in all ways, he was assailed of course by complaint
and criticism. Some of it came to him through
his friend and aide, Joseph Reed, to whom he wrote
in re2)ly one of the noblest letters ever penned by
a great man struggling with adverse circumstances
and wringing victory from grudging fortune. He
said that he was always ready to welcome criticism,
hear advice, and learn the opinion of the world.
148
GEORGE WASHINGTON,
“For as I have but one capital object in view,
I could wish to make my conduct coincide with the
wishes of mankind, as far as I can consistently ;
I mean, without departing from that great line of
duty which, though hid under a cloud for some
time, from a peculiarity of circumstances, may,
nevertheless, bear a scrutiny.” Thus he held fast
to “ the great line of duty,” though bitterly tried
the while by the news from Canada, where brilliant
beginnings were coming to dismal endings, and
cheered only by the arrival of his wife, who drove
up one day in her coach and four, with the horses
ridden by black postilions in scarlet and white
liveries, much to the amazement, no doubt, of the
sober-minded New England folk.
Light, however, finally began to break on the
work about him. Henry Knox, sent out for that
purpose, returned safely with the guns captured at
Ticonderoga, and thus heavy ordnance and gun¬
powder were obtained. By the middle of February
the harbor was frozen over, and Washington ar¬
ranged to cross the ice and carry Boston by storm.
Again he was held back by his council, but this
time he could not be stopped. If he could not cross
the ice he would go by land. He had been slowly
but surely advancing his works all winter, and now
he determined on a decisive stroke. On the evening
of Monday, March 4th, under cover of a heavy bom¬
bardment which distracted the enemy’s attention,
he marched a large body of troops to Dorchester
Heights and began to throw up redoubts. The
TAKING COMMAND.
149
work went forward rapidly, and Washington rode
about all night encouraging the men. The New
England soldiers had sorely tried his temper, and
there were many severe attacks and bitter criti¬
cisms upon them in his letters, which were sup¬
pressed or smoothed over for the most part by Mr.
Sparks, but which have come to light since, as is
sometimes the case with facts. Gradually, how¬
ever, the General had come to know his soldiers
better, and six months later he wrote to Lund
Washington, praising his northern troops in the
highest terms. Even now he understood them as
never before, and as he watched them on that
raw March night, working with the energy and
quick intelligence of their race, he probably felt
that the defects were superficial, but the virtues,
the tenacity, and the courage were lasting and
strong.
When day dawned, and the British caught sight
of the formidable works which had sprung up in
the night, there was a great excitement and running
hither and thither in the town. Still the men on
the heights worked on, and still Washington rode
back and forth among them. He was stirred and
greatly rejoiced at the coming of the fight, which
he now believed inevitable, and as always, when he
was deeply moved, the hidden springs of sentiment
and passion were opened, and he reminded his soldiers
that it was the anniversary of the Boston massacre,
and appealed to them by the memories of that day
to prepare for battle with the enemy. As with
the Huguenots at Ivry, —
150
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
“ Remember St. Bartholomew was passed from man to man.”
But the fighting never came. The British troops
were made ready, then a gale arose and they could
not cross the bay. The next day it rained in tor¬
rents, and the next day it was too late. The Ameri¬
can intrenchments frowned threateningly above
the town, and began to send in certain ominous
messengers in the shape of shot and shell. The
place was now so clearly untenable that Howe de¬
termined to evacuate it. An informal request to
allow the troops to depart unmolested was not an¬
swered, but Washington suspended his fire and the
British made ready to withdraw. Still they hesi¬
tated and delayed, until W^ashington again ad¬
vanced his works, and on this hint they started in
earnest, on March 17th, amid confusion, pillage,
and disorder, leaving cannon and much else behind
them, and seeking refuge in their ships.
All was over, and the town was in the hands of
the Americans. In Washington’s own words, “ To
maintain a post within musket-shot of the enemy
for six months together, without powder, and at the
same time to disband one army and recruit another
within that distance of twenty-odd British regi¬
ments, is more, probably, than ever was attempted.”
It was, in truth, a gallant feat of arms, carried
through by the resolute will and strong brain of
one man. The troops on both sides were brave,
but the British had advantages far more than com¬
pensating for a disparity of numbers, always slight
and often more imaginary than real. They had
TAKING COMMAND.
151
twelve thousand men, experienced, disciplined,
equipped, and thoroughly supplied. They had the
best arms and cannon and gunpowder. They com¬
manded the sea with a strong fleet, and they were
concentrated on the inside line, able to strike with
suddenness and overwhelming force at any point of
widely extended posts. Washington caught them
with an iron grip and tightened it steadily until,
in disorderly haste, they took to their boats without
even striking a blow. Washington’s great abilities,
and the incapacity of the generals opposed to him,
were the causes of this result. If Robert Clive,
for instance, had chanced to have been there the
end might possibly have been the same, but there
would have been some bloody fighting before that
end was reached. The explanation of the feeble
abandonment of Boston lies in the stupidity of the
English government, which had sown the wind and
then proceeded to handle the customary crop with
equal fatuity.
There were plenty of great men in England, but
they were not conducting her government or her
armies. Lord Sandwich had declared in the House
of Lords that all “ Yankees were cowards,” a sim¬
ple and satisfactory statement, readily accepted by
the governing classes, and flung in the teeth of the
British soldiers as they fell back twice from the
bloody slopes of Bunker Hill. Acting on this
pleasant idea, England sent out as commanders of
her American army a parcel of ministerial and
court favorites, thoroughly second-rate men, to
152
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
whom was confided the task of beating one of the
best soldiers and hardest fighters of the century.
Despite the enormous material odds in favor of
Great Britain, the natural result of matching the
Howes and Gages and Burgoynes against George
Washington ensued, and the first lesson was taught
by the evacuation of Boston.
Washington did not linger over his victory.
Even while the British fleet still hung about the
harbor he began to send troops to New York to
make ready for the next attack. He entered Bos¬
ton in order to see that every precaution was taken
against the spread of the smallpox, and then pre¬
pared to depart himself. Two ideas, during his
first winter of conflict, had taken possession of his
mind, and undoubtedly influenced profoundly his
future course. One was the conviction that the
struggle must be fought out to the bitter end, and
must bring either subjugation or complete indepen¬
dence. He wrote in February : “ With respect to
myself, I have never entertained an idea of an ac¬
commodation, since I heard of the measures which
were adopted in consequence of the Bunker’s Hill
fight , and at an earlier date he said t I hope
my countrymen (of Virginia) will rise superior to
any losses the whole navy of Great Britain can
bring on them, and that the destruction of Norfolk
and threatened devastation of other places will
have no other effect than to unite the whole coun¬
try in one indissoluble band against a nation which
seems to be lost to every sense of virtue and those
TAKING COMMAND.
153
feelings whicli distinguish a civilized people from
the most barbarous savages.” With such thoughts
he sought to make Congress appreciate the prob¬
able long duration of the struggle, and he bent
every energy to giving permanency to his army,
and decisiveness to each campaign. The other
idea which had grown in his mind during the
weary siege was that the Tories were thoroughly
dangerous and deserved scant mercy. In his second
letter to Gage he refers to them, with the frank¬
ness which characterized him when he felt strongly,
as “ execrable parricides,” and he made ready to
treat them with the utmost severity at New York
and elsewhere. When Washington was aroused
there was a stern and relentless side to his char¬
acter, in keeping with the force and strength which
were his chief qualities. His attitude on this point
seems harsh now when the old Tories no longer
look very dreadful. But they were dangerous
then, and Washington, with his honest hatred of
all that seemed to him to partake of meanness or
treason, proposed to put them down and render
them harmless, being well convinced, after his
clear-sighted fashion, that war was not peace, and
that mildness to domestic foes was sadly misplaced.
His errand to New England was now done and
well done. Ills victory was won, everything was
settled at Boston ; and so, having sent his army
forward, he started for New York, to meet the
harder trials that still awaited him.
CHAPTER VI.
SAVING THE REVOLUTION.
After leaving Boston, Washington proceeded
through Ehode Island and Connecticut, pushing
troops forward as he advanced, and reached New
York on April 13th. There he found himself
plunged^ at once into the same sea of difficulties
with which he had been struggling at Boston, the
only difference being that these were fresh and
entirely untouched. The army was inadequate,
and the town, which was the central point of the
colonies, as well as the great river at its side, was
wholly unprotected. The troops were in large
measure raw and undrilled, the committee of safety
was hesitating, the Tories were virulent and ac¬
tive, corresponding constantly with Tryon who
was lurking in a British man-of-war, while from
the north came tidings of retreat and disaster.
All these harassing difficulties crowded upon the
command er-in-ehief as soon as he arrived. To ap¬
preciate him it is necessary to understand these con¬
ditions and realize their weight and consequence,
albeit the details seem petty. When we compre¬
hend the difficulties, then we can see plainly the
greatness of the man who quietly and silently took
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 155
them up and disposed of them. Some he scotched
and some he killed, but he dealt with them all after
a fashion sufficient to enable him to move steadily
forward. In his presence the provincial committee
suddenly stiffened and grew strong. All corre¬
spondence with Tryon was cut off, the Tories were
repressed, and on Long Island steps were taken to
root out “these abominable pests of society,” as
the commander-in-chief called them in his plain-
spoken way. Then forts were built, soldiers ener¬
getically recruited and drilled, arrangements made
for prisoners, and despite all the present cares anx¬
ious thought was given to the Canada campaign,
and ideas and expeditions, orders, suggestions and
encouragement were freely furnished to the dispir¬
ited generals and broken forces of the north.
One matter, however, overshadowed all others.
Nearly a year before, Washington had seen that
there was no prospect or possibility of accommoda¬
tion with Great Britain. It was plain to his mind
that the struggle was final in its character and
would be decisive. Separation from the mother
country, therefore, ought to come at once, so that
public opinion might be concentrated. Above all,
permanency ought to be given to the army. These
ideas he had been striving to impress upon Con¬
gress, for the most part less clear-sighted than he
was as to facts, and as the months slipped by his
letters had grown constantly more earnest and
more vehement. Still Congress hesitated, and at
last Washington went himself to Philadelphia and
156
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
held conferences with the principal men. What he
said is lost, hut the tone of Congress certainly rose
after his visit. The aggressive leaders found their
hands so much strengthened that little more than
a month later they carried through a declaration
of independence, which was solemnly and grate¬
fully proclaimed to the army by the general, much
relieved to have got through the necessary boat-
burning, and to have brought affairs, military and
political, on to the hard ground of actual fact.
Soon after his return from Philadelphia, he re¬
ceived convincing proof that his views in regard
to the Tories were extremely sound. A conspiracy
devised by Tryon, which aimed apparently at the
assassination of the commander-in-chief, and which
had corrupted his life-guards for that purpose,
was discovered and scattered before it had fairly
hardened into definite form. The mayor of the
city and various other persons were seized and
thrown into prison, and one of the life-guards,
Thomas Hickey by name, who was the principal
tool in the plot, was hanged in the presence of a
large concourse of people. Washington wrote a
brief and business-like account of the affair to
Congress, from which one would liardly suppose
that his own life had been aimed at. It is a
curious instance of his cool indifference to personal
danger. The conspiracy had failed, that was suffi¬
cient for him, and he had other things besides him¬
self to consider. “ We expect a bloody summer
in New York and Canada,” he wrote his brother.
SAVING THE REVOLUTION.
157
and even while the Canadian expedition was com¬
ing to a disastrous close, and was bringing hostile
invasion instead o£ the hoped-for conquest, British
men-of-war were arriving daily in the harbor, and
a large army was collecting on Staten Island. The
rejoicings over the Declaration of Independence had
hardly died away, when the vessels of the enemy
made their way up the Hudson without check from
the embryo forts, or the obstacles placed in the
stream.
July 12th Lord Howe arrived with more troops,
and also with ample powers to pardon and nego¬
tiate. Almost immediately he tried to open a cor¬
respondence with Washington, but Colonel Reed, in
behalf of the General, refused to receive the let¬
ter addressed to “Mr. Washington.” Then Lord
Howe sent an officer to the American camp with
a second letter, addressed to “ George Washington,
Esq., etc., etc.” The bearer was courteously re¬
ceived, but the letter was declined. “ The etc., etc.
may mean anything,” said the Englishman. “ It
may also mean nothing,” Washington replied, and
added that touching the pardoning power of Lord
Howe there could be no pardon where there was no
guilt, and where no forgiveness was asked. As a
result of these interviews. Lord Howe wrote to
England that it would be well to give Mr. Wash¬
ington his proper title. A small question, appar¬
ently, this of the form of address, especially to a
lover of facts, and yet it was in reality of genuine
importance. To the world Washington represented
158
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the young republic, and he was determined to ex¬
tort from England the first acknowledgment of
independence by compelling her to recognize the
Americans as belligerents and not rebels. Wash¬
ington cared as little for vain shows as any man
who ever lived, but he had the highest sense of per¬
sonal dignity, and of the dignity of his cause and
country. Neither should be allowed to suffer in his
hands. He appreciated the effect on mankind of
foims and titles, and with unerring judgment he
insisted on what he knew to be of real value. It
is one of the earliest examples of the dignity and
good taste which were of such inestimable value to
his country.
He had abundant occasion also for the employ¬
ment of these same qualities, coupled with un¬
wearied patience and tact, in dealing with his own
men. The present army was drawn from a wider
range than that which had taken Boston, and sec¬
tional jealousies and disputes, growing every day
more hateful to the commander-in-chief, sprang up
rankly. The men of Maryland thought those of
Connecticut ploughboys ; the latter held the former
to be fops and dandies. These and a hundred
other disputes buzzed and whirled about Wash¬
ington, stirring his strong temper, and exercising
his sternest self-control in the untiring effort to
suppress them and put them to death. “It re¬
quires, John Adams truly said, “ more serenity
of temper, a deeper understanding, and more cour¬
age than fell to the lot of Marlborough, to ride in
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 159
this whirlwind.” Fortunately these qualities were
all there, and with them an honesty of purpose and
an unbending directness of character to which
Anne’s great general was a stranger.
Meantime, while the internal difficulties were
slowly diminished, the forces of the enemy rapidly
increased. First it became evident that attacks
were not feasible. Then the question changed to
a mere choice of defences. Even as to this there
was great and harassing doubt, for the enemy,
having command of the water, could concentrate
and attack at any point they pleased. Moreover,
the British had thirty thousand of the best disci- •
plined and best equipped troops that Europe could
furnish, wdiile Washington had some twenty thou¬
sand men, one fourth of whom were unfit for duty,
and with the remaining three fourths, raw recruits
for the most part, he was obliged to defend an ex¬
tended line of posts, without cavalry, and with no
means for rapid concentration. Had he been gov¬
erned solely by military considerations he would
have removed the inhabitants, burned New York,
and drawing his forces together would have taken
up a secure post of observation. To have de¬
stroyed the town, however, not only would have
frightened the timid and the doubters, and driven
them over to the Tories, but would have dispir¬
ited the patriots not yet alive to the exigencies
of war, and deeply injured the American cause.
That Washington well understood the need of such
action is clear, both from the current rumors that
160
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the town was to be burned, and from his expressed
desire to remove the women and children from
New York. But political considerations overruled
the military necessity, and he spared the town. It
was bad enough to be thus hampered, but he was
even more fettered in other ways, for he could not
even concentrate his forces and withdraw to the
Highlands without a battle, for he was obliged to
fight in order to sustain public feeling, and thus
he was driven on to almost sure defeat.
Everything, too, as the day of battle drew near,
seemed to make against him. On August 22d the
• enemy began to land on Long Island, where Greene
had drawn a strong line of redoubts behind the vil¬
lage of Brooklyn, to defend the heights which com¬
manded New York, and had made every arrange¬
ment to protect the three roads through the wooded
hills, about a mile from the intrenchments. Most
unfortunately, and just at the critical moment,
Greene was taken down with a raging fever, so
that when Washington came over on the 24th he
found much confusion in the camps, which he re¬
pressed as best he could, and then prepared for the
attack. Greene’s illness, however, had caused some
oversights which were unknown to the commander-
in-chief, and which, as it turned out, proved fatal.
After indecisive skirmishing for two or three
days, the British started early on the morning of the
26th. They had nine thousand men and were well
informed as to the country. Advancing through
woodpaths and lanes, they came round to the
SAVING THE REVOLUTION.
161
left flank of the Americans. One of the roads
through the hills was unguarded, the others feebly
protected. The result is soon told. The Ameri¬
cans, out-generalled and out-flanked, were taken by
surprise and surrounded, Sullivan and his divi¬
sion were cut off, and then Lord Stirling. There
was some desperate fighting, and the Americans
showed plenty of courage, but only a few forced
their way out. Most of them were killed or taken
prisoners, the total loss out of some five thousand
men reaching as high as two thousand.
From the redoubts, whither he had come at
the sound of the firing, Washington watched the
slaughter and disaster in grim silence. He saw
the British troops, flushed with victory, press on to
the very edge of his works and then withdraw in
obedience to command. The British generals had
their prey so surely, as they believed, that they
mercifully decided not to waste life unnecessarily
by storming the works in the first glow of success.
So they waited during that night and the two fol¬
lowing days, while Washington strengthened his
intrenchments, brought over reinforcements, and
prepared for the worst. On the 29th it became ap¬
parent that there was a movement in the fleet, and
that arrangements were being made to take the
Americans in the rear and wholly cut them off. It
was a pretty ])lan, but the British overlooked the
fact that while they were lingering, summing up
their victory, and counting the future as assured,
there was a silent watchful man on the other side
162
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
of the redoubts who for forty-eight hours never left
the lines, and who with a great capacity for stub¬
born fig’hting could move, when the stress came,
with the celerity and stealth of a panther.
Washington swiftly determined to retreat. It
was a desperate undertaking, and a lesser man
would have hesitated and been lost. He had to
transport nine thousand men across a strait of
strong tides and currents, and three (][uarters of a
mile in width. It was necessary to collect the
boats from a distance, and do it all within sight
and hearing of the enemy. The boats were Ob¬
tained, a thick mist settled down on sea and land,
the water was calm, and as the night wore away,
the entire army with all its arms and baggage was
carried over, Washington leaving in the last boat.
At daybreak the British awoke, but it was too late.
They had fought a successful battle, they had had
the American army in their grasp, and now all was
over. The victory had melted away, and, as a
gland lesult, they had a few hundred prisoners, a
stray boat with three camp-followers, and the de¬
serted works in which they stood. To make such
a retreat as this was a feat of arms as great as
most victories, and in it we see, perhaps as plainly
as anywhere, the nerve and quickness of the man
who conducted it. It is true it was the only
diance of salvation, but the great man is he who
IS entirely master of his opportunity, even if he
have but one.
Tlie outlook, nevertheless, was, as Washington
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 163
wrote, “ truly distressing.” The troops were dispir¬
ited, and the militia began to disappear, as they
always did after a defeat. Congress would not
permit the destruction of the city, different inter¬
ests pulled in different directions, conflicting opin¬
ions distracted the councils of war, and, with utter
inability to predict the enemy’s movements, every¬
thing led to halfway measures and to intense anx¬
iety, while Lord Howe tried to negotiate with Con¬
gress, and the Americans waited for events. Wash¬
ington, looking beyond the confusion of the mo¬
ment, saw that he had gained much by delay, and
had his own plan well deflned. He wrote: “We
have not only delayed the operations of the cam¬
paign till it is too late to effect any capital incur¬
sion into the country, but have drawn the enemy’s
forces to one point. ... It would be presumption
to draw out our young troops into open ground
against their superiors both in number and disci¬
pline, and I have never spared the spade and pick¬
axe.” Every one else, however, saw only past de¬
feat and present peril.
The British ships gradually made their way up
the river, until it became apparent that they in¬
tended to surround and cut* off the American army.
Washington made preparations to withdraw, but
uncertainty of information came near rendering his
precautions futile. September 15th the men-of-war
opened Are, and troops were landed near Kip’s
Bay. The militia in the breastworks at that point
had been at Brookl}^! and gave way at once, com-
164
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
municating their panic to two Connecticut regi¬
ments. Washington, galloping down to the scene
of battle, came upon the disordered and flying
troops. He dashed in among them, conjuring them
to stop, but even while he was trying to rally them
they broke again on the appearance of some sixty
or seventy of the enemy, and ran in all directions.
In a tempest of anger Washington drew his pis¬
tols, struck the fugitives with his sword, and was
only forced from the field by one of his officers
seizing the bridle of his horse and dragging him
away from the British, now within a hundred yards
of the spot.
Through all his trials and anxieties IVashington
always showed the broadest and most generous
sympathy. When the militia had begun^to leave
him a few days before, although he despised their
action and protested bitterly to Congress against
their employment, yet in his letters he displayed
a keen appreciation of their feelings, and saw
plainly every palliation and excuse. But there was
one thing which he could never appreciate nor real¬
ize. It was from first to last impossible for him to
understand how any man could refuse to fight, or
could think of running away. When he beheld
rout and cowardly panic before his very eyes, his
temper broke loose and ran uncontrolled. His one
thought then was to fight to the last, and he would
have thrown himself single-handed on the enemy,
with all his wisdom and prudence flung to the
winds. The day when the commander held his
SAVING THE REVOLUTION.
165
place by virtue of personal prowess lay far back
in the centuries, and no one knew it better than
Washington. But the old fighting spirit awoke
within him when the clash of arms sounded in his
ears, and though we may know the general in the
tent and in the council, we can only know the man
when he breaks out from all rules and customs,
and show^s the rage of battle, and the indomitable
eagerness for the fray, which lie at the bottom of
the tenacity and courage that carried the war for
independence to a triumphant close.
The rout and panic over, Washington quickly
turned to deal with the pressing danger. With
coolness and quickness he issued his orders, and
succeeded in getting his army off, Putnam’s divi¬
sion escaping most narrowly. He then took post
at King’s Bridge, and began to strengthen and
fortify his lines. While thus engaged, the enemy
advanced, and on the 16th a sharp skirmish was
fought, in which the British were repulsed, and
great bravery was shown by the Connecticut and
Virginia troops, the two commanding officers being
killed. This affair, which was the first gleam of
success, encouraged the troops, and was turned to
the best account by the general. Still a successful
skirmish did not touch the essential difficulties of
the situation, which then as always came from
within, rather than without. To face and check
twenty-five thousand well equipped and highly dis¬
ciplined soldiers Washington had now some twelve
thousand men, lacking in everything which goes to
166
GEORGE WA SHIN G TON.
make an army, except mere individual courage and
a high average of intelligence. Even this meagre
force was an inconstant and diminishing quantity,
shifting, uncertain, and always threatening disso¬
lution.
The task of facing and fighting the enemy was
enough for the ablest of men ; but Washington was
obliged also to combat and overcome the inertness
and dulness born of ignorance, and to teach Con¬
gress how to govern a nation at war. In the hours
“allotted to sleep,” he sat in his headquarters,
writing a letter, with “ blots and scratches,” which
told Congress with the utmost precision and vigor
just what was needed. It was but one of a long-
series of similar letters, written with unconquerable
patience and with unwearied iteration, lighted here
and there by flashes of deep and angry feeling,
which would finally strike home under the pressure
of defeat, and bring the patriots of the legislature
to sudden action, always incomplete, but still ac¬
tion of some sort. It must have been inexpressibly
dreary work, but quite as much was due to those
letters as to the battles. Thinking for other peo¬
ple, and teaching them what to do, is at best an
ungrateful duty, but when it is done while an en¬
emy is at your throat, it shows a grim tenacity of
purpose which is well worth consideration.
In this instance the letter of September 24th,
read in the light of the battles of Long Island and
Kip’s Bay, had a considerable effect. The first
ste]3s were taken to make the army national and
SAVING THE REVOLUTION.
1G7
l^ermanent, to raise the pay of officers, and to
lengthen enlistments. Like most of the war meas¬
ures of Congress, they v/ere too late for the imme¬
diate necessity, but they helped the future. Con¬
gress, moreover, then felt that all had been done
that could be demanded, and relapsed once more
into confidence. “ The British force,” said John
Adams, chairman of the board of war, “is so di¬
vided, they will do no great matter this fall.” But
Washington, facing hard facts, wrote to Congress
with his unsj)aring truth on October 4th : “ Give
me leave to say, sir, (I say it with due deference
and respect, and my knowledge of the facts, added
to the importance of the cause and the stake I hold
in it, must justify the freedom,) that your affairs
are in a more unpromising way than you seem to
apprehend. Your army, as I mentioned in my
last, is on the eve of its political dissolution. True
it is, you have voted a larger one in lieu of it ; but
the season is late ; and there is a material differ¬
ence between voting battalions and raising men.”
The campaign as seen from the board of war
and from the Plains of Harlem differed widely. It
is needless to say now which was correct ; every
one knows that the General was right and Con¬
gress wrong, but being in the right did not help
Washington, nor did he take petty pleasure in be¬
ing able to say, “ I told you how it would be.”
The hard facts remained unchanged. There was
the wholly patriotic but slumberous, and for fight¬
ing purposes quite inefficient Congress still to be
168
GE OR GE WASHING TON.
waked up and kept awake, and to be instructed.
With painful and plain-spoken repetition this work
was grappled with and done methodically, and like
all else as effectively as was possible.
Meanwhile the days slipped along, and Wash¬
ington waited on the Harlem Plains, planning de¬
scents on Long Island, and determiniug to make a
desperate stand where he was, unless the situation
decidedly changed. Then the situation did change,
as neither he nor any one else apparently had an¬
ticipated. The British war-ships came up the
Hudson past the forts, brushing aside our boasted
obstructions, destroying our little fleet, and getting
command of the river. Then General Howe
landed at Frog’s Point, where he was checked for
the moment by the good disposition of Heath,
under Washington’s direction. These two events
made it evident that the situation of the American
army was full of peril, and that retreat was again
necessary. Such certainly was the conclusion of
the council of war, on the 16th, acting this time
in agreement with their chief. Six days Howe
lingered on Frog’s Point, bringing up stores or
artillery or something ; it matters little now why
he tarried. Suffice it that he waited, and gave six
days to Washington. They were of little value to
Howe, but they were of inestimable worth toW ash-
ington, who employed them in getting everything
in readiness, in holding his council of war, and then
on the 17th in moving deliberately off to very strong
ground at White Plains. On his way he fought
SAVJNG THE REVOLUTION. 169
two or three slight, sharp, and successful skirmishes
with the British. Sir William followed closely, but
with much caution, having now a dull glimmer in
his mind that at the head of the raw troops in front
of him was a man with whom it was not safe to be
entirely careless.
On the 28th, Howe came up to Washington’s
position, and found the Americans quite equal in
numbers, strongly intrenched, and awaiting his at¬
tack with confidence. He hesitated, doubted, and
finally feeling that he must do something, sent four
thousand men to storm Chatterton Hill, an outly-
iug post, where some fourteen hundred Americans
were stationed. There was a short, sharp action,
and then the Americans retreated in good order to
the main army, having lost less than half as many
men as their opponents. With caution now much
enlarged, Howe sent for reinforcements, and waited
two days. The third day it rained, and on the
fourth Howe found that Washington had with¬
drawn to a higher and quite impregnable line of
hills, where he held all the passes in the rear and
awaited a second attack. Howe contemplated the
situation for two or three days longer, and then
broke camp and withdrew to Dobbs ‘ Ferry. Such
were the great results of the victory of Long Is¬
land, two wasted months, and the American army
still untouched.
Howe was resolved, however, that his campaign
sliould not be utterly fruitless, and therefore di¬
rected his attention to tlie defences of the Hudson,
170
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Fort Lee, and Fort Washington, and here he met
with better success. Congress, in its military wis¬
dom, had insisted that these forts must and could
be held. So thought the generals, and so most es¬
pecially, and most unluckily, did Greene. Wash¬
ington, with his usual accurate and keen percep¬
tion, saw, from the time the men-of-war came up
the Hudson, and, now that the British army was
free, more clearly than ever that both forts ought
to be abandoned. Sure of his ground, he overruled
Congress, but was so far influenced by Greene that
he gave to that officer discretionary orders as to
withdrawal. This was an act of weakness, as he
afterwards admitted, for which he bitterlv re-
proached himself, never confusing or glossing over
his own errors, but loyal there, as elsewhere, to
facts. An attempt was made to hold both forts,
and both were lost, as he had foreseen. From Fort
Lee the garrison withdrew in safety. Fort Wash¬
ington was carried by storm, after a severe struggle.
Twenty-six hundred men and all the munitions of
war fell into the hands of the enemy. It was a seri¬
ous and most depressing loss, and was felt through¬
out the continent.
Meantime Washington had crossed into the Jer¬
seys, and, after the loss of Fort Lee, began to re¬
treat before the British, who, flushed with victory,
now advanced rapidly under Lord Cornwallis. The
crisis of his fate and of the Bevolution was upon
him. His army was melting away. The militia
had almost all disappeared, and regiments whose
SAVING THE REVOLUTION.
171
term of enlistment bad expired were departing
daily. Lee, who bad a division under bis command,
was ordered to come up, but paid no attention, al-
thougb tbe orders were repeated almost every day
for a montb. He lingered, and loitered, and ex¬
cused bimself, and at last was taken prisoner. Tins
disposed of bim for a time very satisfactorily, but
meanwhile be bad succeeded in keeping bis troops
from lYasbington, winch was a most serious mis¬
fortune.
On December 2d Washington was at Princeton
with three thousand ragged men, and the British
close upon his heels. They had him now surely in
tbeir grip. There could be no mistake this time,
and there was therefore no need of a forced march.
But they had not yet learned that to Washington
even hours meant much, and when, after duly rest¬
ing, they reached the Delaware, they found the
Americans on the other side, and all the boats de¬
stroyed for a distance of seventy miles.
It was winter now, the short gray days had come,
and with them piercing cold and storms of sleet
and ice. It seemed as if the elements alone would
finally disperse the feeble body of men still gath¬
ered about the commander-in-chief. Congress had
sent bim blank commissions and orders to recruit,
wbich were well meant, but were not practicall}^ of
mucb value. As .Glendower could call spirits from
the vasty deep, so they, with like success, sought to
call soldiers from the earth in the midst of defeat,
and in the teeth of a North American winter.
172
GEORGE WASHING TON.
Wasliington, baffling pursuit and flying from town
to town, left nothing undone. North and south
went letters and appeals for men, money, and sup¬
plies. Vain, very vain, it all was, for the most
part, but still it was done in a tenacious spirit.
Lee would not come, the Jersey militia would not
turn out, thousands began to accept Howe’s am-
nest}- , and signs of wavering were apparent in some
of the Middle States. Philadelphia was threatened,
Newport was in the hands of the enemy, and for
ninety miles TV^ashington had retreated, evading
ruin again and again only by the width of a river.
Congress voted not to leave Philadelphia, — a fact
which their General declined to publish, — and then
fled.
No one remained to face the grim realities of the
time but M ashington, and he met them unmoved.
Not a moment passed that he did not seek in some
way to effect something'. Not an hour went by
that he did not turn calmly from fresh and ever
renewed disappointment to work and action.
By the middle of December Howe felt satisfied
that the American army would soon dissolve, and
leaving strong detachments in various posts he with¬
drew to New York. His premises were sound, and
his conclusions logical, but he made his usual mis¬
take of overlooking and underestimating the Amer¬
ican pneral. No sooner was it known that he was
on his way to New York than Washington, at the
head of his dissolving army, resolved to take the
offensive and strike an outlying post. In a letter
SAVING THE REVOLUTION.
173
of December 14tli, tlie day after Howe began to
move, we catch the first glimpse of Trenton. It
was a bold spirit that, in the dead of winter, with
a broken army, no prospect of reinforcements, and
in the midst of a terror-stricken people, could thus
resolve with some four thousand men to attack an
army thoroughly appointed, and numbering in all
its divisions twenty-five thousand soldiers.
It is well to pause a moment and look at that
situation, and at the overwhelming difficulties which
hemmed it in, and then try to realize what manner
of man he was who rose superior to it, and con¬
quered it. Be it remembered, too, that he never
deceived himself, and never for one instant dis¬
guised the truth. Two years later he wrote that at
this supreme moment, in what were called “the
dark days of America,” he was never despondent ;
and this was true enough, for despair was not in
his nature. But no delusions lent him courage.
On the 18th he wrote to his brother “ that if every
nerve was not strained to recruit this new army
the game was pretty nearly up ; ” and added, “ You
can form no idea of the perplexity of my situation.
No man, I believe, ever had a greater choice of
difficulties, and less means to extricate himself
from them. However, under a full persuasion of
the justice of our cause, I cannot entertain an idea
that it will finally sink, though it may remain for
some time under a cloud.” There is no complaint,
no boasting, no despair in this letter. We can
detect a bitterness in the references to Con<rress
171
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
and to Lee, but the tone of the letter is as calm
as a May morning, and it concludes with sending
love and good wishes to the writer’s sister and her
familyc
Thus in the dreary winter Washington was plan¬
ning and devising and sending hither and thither
for men, and never ceased through it all to write
urgent and ever sharper letters and keep a wary
eye upon the future. He not only wrote strongly,
but he pledged his own estate and exceeded his
powers in desperate efforts to raise money and
men. On the 20th he wrote to Congress : “ It
may be thought that I am going a good deal out of
the line of my duty to adopt these measures, or to
advise thus freely. A character to lose, an estate
to forfeit, the inestimable blessings of liberty at
stake, and a life devoted, must be my excuse.”
Even now across the century these words come
with a grave solemnity to our ears, and we can feel
as he felt when he alone saw that he stood on the
brink of a great crisis. It is an awful thing to
know that the life of a nation is at stake, and this
thought throbs in his words, measured and quiet as
usual, but deeply fraught with much meaning to
him and to the world.
By Christmas all was ready, and when the Chris¬
tian world was rejoicing and feasting, and the Brit¬
ish officers in New York and in the New Jersey
towns were revelling and laughing, Washington
prepared to strike. His whole force, broken into
various detachments, was less than six thousand
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 175
men. To each division was assigned, with provi¬
dent forethought, its exact part. Nothing was
overlooked, nothing omitted ; and then every divi¬
sion commander failed, for good reason or bad, to
do his duty. Gates was to march from Bristol with
two thousand men, Ewing was to cross at Trenton,
Putnam was to come up from Philadelphia, Griffin
was to make a diversion against Donop. When
the moment came. Gates, disapproving the scheme,
was on his way to Congress, and Wilkinson, with
his message, found his way to headquarters by fol¬
lowing the bloody tracks of the barefooted soldiers.
Griffin abandoned New Jersey and fled before
Donop. Putnam would not even attempt to leave
Philadelphia, and Ewing made no effort to cross
at Trenton. Cadwalader, indeed, came down from
Bristol, but after looking at the river and the float¬
ing ice, gave it up as desperate.
But there was one man who did not hesitate nor
give up, nor halt on account of floating ice. With
twenty-four hundred hardy veterans, Washington
crossed the Delaware. The niw'ht was bitter cold
o
and the passage difficult. When they landed, and
began their march of nine miles to Trenton, a fierce
storm of sleet drove in their faces. Sullivan,
marching by the river, sent word that the arms of
his men were wet. “ Then tell your general,” said
Washington, “ to use the bayonet, for the town
must be taken.” In broad daylight they came to
the town. Washington, at the front and on the
right of the line, swept down the Pennington road.
176
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
and as he drove in the pickets he heard the shouts
of Sullivan’s men, as, with Stark leading the van,
they charged in from the river. A company of
yagers and the light dragoons slipped away, there
was a little confused fighting in the streets. Colonel
Eahl fell, mortally wounded, his Hessians threw
down their arms, and all was over. The battle
had been fought and won, and the Kevolution was
saved.
Taking his thousand prisoners with him, Wash¬
ington recrossed the Delaware to his old position.
Had all done their duty, as he had planned, the
British hold on New Jersey would have been shat¬
tered. As it was, it was only loosened. Congress,
aroused at last, had invested Washington with al¬
most dictatorial powers ; but the time for action
was short. The army was again melting away, and
only by urgent appeals were some veterans retained,
and enough new men gathered to make a force of
five thousand men. With this army Washington
prepared to finish what he had begun.
Trenton struck alarm and dismay into the British,
and Cornwallis, with seven thousand of the best
troops, started from New York to redeem what had
been lost. Leaving three regiments at Princeton,
he pushed hotly after Washington, who fell back
behind the Assunpink Eiver, skirmishing heavily
and successfully. When Cornwallis reached the
river he found the American army drawn up on
the other side awaiting him. An attack on the
bridge was repulsed, and the prospect looked unin-
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 177
viting. Some officers urged an immediate assault ;
but night was falling, and Cornwallis, sure of the
game, decided to wait till the morrow. He, too,
forgot that he was facing an enemy who never
overlooked a mistake, and never waited an hour.
With quick decision Washington left his camp-fires
burning on the river bank, and taking roundabout
roads, which he had already reconnoitred, marched
on Princeton. By sunrise he was in the outskirts
of the town. Mercer, detached with some three
hundred men, fell in with Mawhood’s regiment,
and a sharp action ensued. Mercer was mortally
wounded, and his men gave way just as the main
army came upon the field. The British charged,
and as the raw Pennsylvanian troops in the van
wavered, ^Vashington rode to the front, and rein¬
ing his horse within thirty yards of the British,
ordered his men to advance. The volleys of mus¬
ketry left him unscathed, the men stood firm, the
other divisions came rapidly into action, and the
enemy gave way in all directions. The two other
British regiments were driven through the town
and routed. Had there been cavalry they would
have been entirely cut off. As it was, they were
completely broken, and in this short but bloody ac¬
tion they lost five hundred men in killed, wounded,
and prisoners. It was too late to strike the maga¬
zines at Brunswick, as Washington had intended,
and so he withdrew once more with his army to the
high lands to rest and recruit.
1 1 is work was done, however. The countr}’’, which
178
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
had been supine, and even hostile, rose now, and
the British were attacked, surprised, and cut off in
all directions, until at last they were shut up in
the immediate vicinity of New York. The tide had
been turned, and Washington had won the precious
breathing-time which was all he required.
Frederick the Great is reported to have said that
this was the most brilliant campaign of the century.
It certainly showed all the characteristics of the
highest strategy and most consummate generalship.
With a force numerically insignificant as compared
with that opposed to him, Washington won two
_ decisive victories, striking the enemy suddenly with
superior numbers at each point of attack. The
Trenton campaign has all the quality of some of
the last battles fought by Napoleon in France be¬
fore his retirement to Elba. Moreover, these battles
show not only generalship of the first order, but
great statesmanship. They display that prescient
knowledge which recognizes the supreme moment
when all must be risked to save the state. By
Trenton and Princeton Washington inflicted deadly
blows uj)on the enemy, but he did far more by re¬
viving the patriotic spirit of the country fainting
under the bitter experience of defeat, and by send¬
ing fresh life and hope and courage throughout the
whole people.
It was the decisive moment of the war. Sooner
or later the American colonies were sure to part
from the mother-country, either peaceably or vio¬
lently. But there was nothing inevitable in the
SAVING THE REVOLUTION.
179
Revolution of 1776, nor was its end at all certain.
It was in the last extremities when the British
overran New Jersey, and if it had not been for
Washington that particular revolution would have
most surely failed. Its fate lay in the hands of the
general and his army ; and to the strong brain grow¬
ing ever keener and quicker as the pressure became
more intense, to the iron will gathering a more
relentless force as defeat thickened, to the high,
unbending character, and to the passionate and
fighting temper of Washington, we owe the bril¬
liant campaign which in the darkest hour turned
the tide and saved the cause of the Revolution.
CHAPTER VII.
“malice domestic, and foreign levy.’’
After the “ two lucky strokes at Trenton and
Princeton,” as he himself called them, Washington
took up a strong position at Morristown and waited.
His plan was to hold the enemy in check, and to
delay all operations until spring. It is easy enough
now to state his purpose, and it looks very simple,
but it was a grim task to carry it out through the
bleak winter days of 1777. The Jersey farmers,
spurred by the sufferings inflicted upon them by
the British troops, had turned out at last in defer¬
ence to W ashington’s appeals, after the victories of
Trenton and Princeton, had harassed and cut off
outlying parties, and had thus straitened the move¬
ments of the enemy. But the main army of the
colonies, on which all depended, was in a pitiable
state. It shifted its character almost from day to
day. The curse of short enlistments, so denounced
by Washington, made itself felt now with frightful
effect. With the new year most of the continental
troops departed, while others to replace them came
in very slowly, and recruiting dragged most weari¬
somely. Washington was thus obliged, with tem¬
porary reinforcements of raw militia, to keep up
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY, 181
til)p6<iraiices j and. no coniinanclGr 6V6r struo^olAd
with a more trying task. At times it looked as if
the whole army would actually disappear, and more
than once Washington expected that the week’s or
the month s end would find him with not more than
five hundred men. At the beginning of March he
had about four thousand men, a few weeks later
only three thousand raw troops, ill-fed, ill-clad, ill-
shod, ill-armed, and almost unpaid. Over against
him was Howe, with eleven thousand men in the
field, and still more in the city of New York, well
disciplined and equipped, well-armed, well-fed, and
furnished with every needful supply. The contrast
is absolutely grotesque, and yet the force of one
man s genius and will was such that this excellent
British army was hemmed in and kept in harmless
quiet by their ragged opponents.
Washington’s plan, from the first, was to keep
the field at all hazards, and literally at all hazards
did he do so. Bight and left his letters went, day
after day, calling with pathetic but dignified ear¬
nestness for men and supplies. In one of these
epistles, to Governor Cooke of Bhode Island, written
in January, to remonstrate against raising troops
for the State only, he set forth his intentions in a
few words. “You must be sensible,” he said, “that
the season is fast approaching when a new cam¬
paign will open ; nay, the former is not yet closed ;
nor do I intend it shall be, unless the enemy quits
the Jerseys.” To keep fighting all the time, and
never let the fire of active resistance flicker or die
182
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
out, was Washington’s theory of the way to main¬
tain his own side and beat the enemy. If he could
not fight big battles, he would fight small ones ; if
he could not fight little battles, he would raid and
skirmish and surprise ; but fighting of some sort he
would have, while the enemy attempted to spread
over a State and hold possession of it. We can see
the obstacles now, but we can only wonder how they
were sufficiently overcome to allow anything to be
done.
Moreover, besides the purely physical difficulties
in the lack of men, money, and supplies, there were
others of a political and personal kind, which were
even more wearing and trying, but which, never¬
theless, had to be dealt with also, in some fashion.
In order to sustain the courage of the people
Washington was obliged to give out, and to allow it
to be supposed, that he had more men than was
really the case, and so Congress and various wise
and well-meaning persons grumbled because he did
not do more and fight more battles. He never de¬
ceived Congress, but they either could not or would
not understand the aetual situation. In March he
wrote to Robert Morris : “ Nor is it in my power to
make Congress fully sensible of the real situation
of our affairs, and that it is with difficulty, if I may
use the expression, that I can by every means in
my power keep the life and soul of this army to¬
gether. In a word, when they are at a distance,
they think it is but to say. Presto.^ begone.) and every¬
thing is done. They seem not to have any concep-
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 183
tioii of the difficulty and perplexity attending those
who are to execute.” It Avas so easy to see what
they would like to have done, and so simple to pass
a resolve to that effect, that Congress never could
appreciate the reality of the difficulty and the danger
until the hand of the enemy was almost at their
throat. They were not even content with delay
and neglect, but interfered actively at times, as
in the matter of the exchange of prisoners, where
they made unending trouble for Washington, and
showed themselves unable to learn or to keep their
hands off after any amount of instruction.
In January Washington issued a proclamation
requiring those inhabitants who had subscribed to
Howe’s declaration to come in within thirty days
and take the oath of allegiance to the United States.
If they failed to do so they were to be treated as
enemies. The measure was an eminently proper
one, and the proclamation was couched in the most
moderate language. It was impossible to permit
a large class of persons to exist on the theory that
they were peaceful, American citizens and also sub¬
jects of King George. The results of such con¬
duct were in every way perilous and intolerable,
and ashington Avas determined that he AAmuld
divide the sheep from the goats, and knoAv AAdiom
he AA'as defending and Avhom attacking. Yet for
this Avise and necessary action he was called in
question in Congress and accused of violating civil
rights and the resolv^es of Congress. Nothing A\\as
actually done about it, but such an incident sIioaa’^s
184
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
from a single point tlie infinite tact and resolution
required in waging war under a government whose
members were unable to comprehend what was
meant, and who could not see that until they had
beaten England it was hardly worth while to worry
about civil rights, which in case of defeat would
speedily cease to exist altogether.
Another fertile source of trouble arose from
questions of rank. Members of Congress, in mak¬
ing promotions and appointments, were more apt to
consider local claims than military merit, and they
also allowed their own personal prejudices to affect
their action in this respect far too much. Thence
arose endless heart-burnings and jealousies, fol¬
lowed by resignations and the loss of valuable offi¬
cers. Congress, having made the appointments,
would go cheerfully about its business, while the
swarm of grievances thus let loose would come buz¬
zing* about the devoted head of the commander-
in-chief. He could not get away, but was com¬
pelled to quiet rivalries, allay irritated feelings, and
ride the storm as best he might. It was all done,
however, in one way or another : by personal ajv
peals, and by letters full of dignity, patriotism, and
patience, which are very impressive and full of
meaning for students of character, even in this day
and generation.
Then again, not content with snarling up our
native aj^pointments. Congress comjDlicated matters
still more dangerously by its treatment of for¬
eigners. The members of Congress were colonists.
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 185
and tlie fact that they had shaken off the yoke of
the mother country did not in the least alter their
colonial and perfectly natural habit of regarding
with enormous respect Englishmen and French¬
men, and indeed anybody who had had the good
fortune to be born in Europe. The result was that
they distributed commissions and gave inordinate
rank to the many volunteers who came over the
ocean, actuated by various motives, but all filled
with a profound sense of their own merits. It is
only fair to Congress to say that the American
agents abroad were even more to blame in this
respect. Silas Deane especially scattered promises
of commissions with a lavish hand, and Congress re¬
fused to fulfil many of the promises thus made in
its name. Nevertheless, Congress was far too lax,
and followed too closely the example of its agents.
Some of these foreigners were disinterested men
and excellent soldiers, who proved of great value to
the American cause. Many others were mere mili¬
tary adventurers, capable of being turned to good
account, perhaps, but by no means entitled to what
they claimed and in most instances received.
The ill-considered action of Congress and of our
agents abroad in this respect was a source of con¬
stantly recurring troubles of a very serious nature.
Native officers, who had borne the burden and heat
of the da}^, justly resented being superseded by
some stranger, unable to speak the language, who
had landed in the states but a few days before. As
a result, resignations were threatened which, if
186
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
carried out, would affect the character of the army
very deeply. Then again, the foreigners them¬
selves, inflated by the eagerness of our agents and
by their reception at the hands of Congress, would
find on joining the army that they could get no
commands, chiefly because there were none to give.
They would then become dissatisfied with their
rank and employment, and bitter complaints and
recriminations would ensue. All these difficulties,
of course, fell most heavily upon the commander-in-
chief, who was heartily disgusted with the whole
business. ashington believed from the begin-
ning, and said over and over again in various and
ever stronger terms, that this was an American war
and must be fought by Americans. In no other
way, and by no other persons, did he consider that
It could be carried to any success worth having.
He saw of course the importance of a French alli¬
ance, and deeply desired it, for it was a leading ele¬
ment in the solution of the political and military
situation ; but alliance with a foreig’n jjower was
one thing, and sporadic military volunteers were
another. Washington had no narrow prejudices
against foreigners, for he was a man of broad and
liberal mind, and no one was more universally be¬
loved and respected by the foreign officers than he ;
but he was intensely American in his feelings, and he
would not admit for an instant that the American
war for independence could be righteously fought
or honestly won by others than Americans. He
was well aware that foreign volunteers had a value
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 187
and use of wliicli lie largely and gratefully availed
himself ; but he was exasperated and alarmed by
the indiscriminate and lavish way in which our for¬
eign agents and Congress gave rank and office to
them. “ Hungry adventurers,” he called them in
one letter, when driven beyond endurance by the
endless annoyances thus forced upon him ; and so
he pushed their pretensions aside, and managed, on
the whole, to keep them in their proper place. The
operation was delicate, difficult, and unpleasant, for
it seemed to savor of ingratitude. But W ashington
was never shaken for an instant in his policy, and
while he checked the danger, he showed in many in¬
stances, like Lafayette and Steuben, that he could
appreciate and use all that was really valuable in
the foreign contingent.
The service rendered by Washington in this
matter has never been justly understood or ap¬
preciated. If he had not taken this position, and
held it with an absolute firmness which bordered
on harshness, we should have found ourselves in a
short time with an army of American soldiers offi¬
cered by foreigners, many of them mere merce¬
naries, “hungry adventurers,” from France, Poland
or Hungary, from Germany, Ireland or England.
The result of such a combination would have been
disorganization and defeat. That members of Con-
gress and some of our representatives in Europe did
not see the danger, and that they were impressed
by the foreign officers who came among them, was
perfectly natural. INIen are the creatures of the
188
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
time in which they live, and take their color from
the conditions which surround them, as the chame¬
leon does from the grass or leaves in which it hides.
The rukrs and lawmakers of 1776 could not cast
off their provincial awe of the natives of England
and Europe as they cast off their political alle¬
giance to the British king. The only wonder is
that there should have been even one man so great
in mind and character that he could rise at a single
bound from the level of a provincial planter to tlie
heights of a great national leader. He proved him¬
self such in all ways, but in none more surely than
in his ability to consider all men simply as men,
and, with a judgment that nothing could confuse^
to ward off from his cause and country the dangers
inherent in colonial habits of thought and action,
SO menacing to a j^eople struggling for indepen¬
dence. We can see this strong, high spirit of
nationality running through Washington’s whole
career, but it never did better service than when it
stood between the American army and lavish favor
to foreign volunteers.
Among other disagreeable and necessary truths,
Washington had told Congress that Philadelphia
was in danger, that Howe probably meant to oc-
cupy it, and that it would be nearly impossible to
prevent his doing so. This warning being given
and unheeded, he continued to watch his antago¬
nist, doing so with increased vigilance, as signs of
activity began to appear in New York. Toward
the end of May he broke up his cantonments,
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 189
having now about seven thousand men, and took a
strong position within ten miles of Brunswick.
Here he waited, keeping an anxious eye on the
Hudson in case he should be mistaken in his ex¬
pectations, and should find that the enemy really
intended to go north to meet Burgoyne instead of
south to capture Philadelphia.
Washington’s doubts were soon to be resolved
and his expectations fulfilled. May 31st, a fleet
of a hundred sail left New York, and couriers
were at once sent southward to warn the States
of the possibility of a speedy invasion. About the
same time transports arrived with more German
mercenaries, and Howe, thus reinforced, entered
the Jerseys. Washington determined to decline
battle, and if the enemy pushed on and crossed the
Delaware, to hang heavily on their rear, while the
militia from the south were drawn up to Philadel¬
phia. He adopted this course because he felt con¬
fident that Howe would never cross the Delaware
and leave the main army of the Americans behind
him. His theory proved correct. The British
advanced and retreated, burned houses and villages
and made feints, but all in vain. Washington
baffled them at every point, and finally Sir Wil¬
liam evacuated the Jerseys entirely and withdrew
to New York and Staten Island, where active
preparations for some expedition were at once
begun. Again came anxious watching, with the
old fear that Howe meant to go northward and
join the now advancing Burgoyne. The fear was
190
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
gToundless. On July 23d the British fleet set sail
from New York, carrying between fifteen and
eighteen thousand men. Undeceived by the ef¬
forts to make him think that they aimed at Bos¬
ton, but still fearing that the sailing might be only
a ruse and the Hudson the real object after all,
TV^ashington moved cautiously to the Delaware,
holding himself ready to strike in either direction.
On the 31st lie heard that the enemy were at the
Capes. This seemed decisive. He sent in all di-
lections for reinforcements, moved the main army
rapidly to Germantown, and prepared to defend
Philadelphia. The next news was that the fleet
had put to sea again, and again messengers went
north to warn Putnam to prepare for the defence
of the Hudson. Washington himself was about
to 1 e-cross the Delaware, when tidings arrived that
the fleet had once more appeared at the Capes, and
after a few more days of doubt the ships came up
the Chesapeake and anchored.
Washington thought the “ route a strange one,”
but he knew now that he was right in his belief
that Howe aimed at Philadelphia. He therefore
gathered his forces and marched south to meet the
enemy, passing through the city in order to im¬
press the disaffected and the timid with the show
of force. It was a motley array that followed him.
There was nothing uniform about the troops except
their burnished arms and the sprigs of evergreen in
their hats. Nevertheless Lafayette, who had just
come among them, thought that they looked like
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 191
good soldiers, and the Tories woke up sharply to
the fact that there was a large body of men known
as the American army, and that they had a certain
obvious fighting capacit}^ visible in their appear¬
ance. Neither friends nor enemies knew, however,
as they stood on the Philadelphia sidewalks and
watched the troops go past, that the mere fact of
that army’s existence was the greatest victory of
skill and endurance which the war could show, and
that the question of success lay in its continuance.
Leaving Philadelphia, Washington pushed on to
the junction of the Brandywine and Christiana
Creek, and posted his men along the heights. Au¬
gust 25th, Howe landed at the Head of Elk, and
Washington threw out light parties to drive in
cattle, carry off supplies, and annoy the enemy.
This was done, on the whole, satisfactorily, and af¬
ter some successful skirmishing on the part of the
Americans, the two armies on the 5th of Septem¬
ber found themselves within eight or ten miles of
each other. Washington now determined to risk a
battle in the field, despite his inferiority in every
way. He accordingly issued a stirring proclama¬
tion to the soldiers, and then fell back behind the
Brandywine, to a strong position, and prepared to
contest the j)assage of the river.
Early on September 11th, the British advanced
to Chad’s Ford, where Washington was posted
with the main body, and after some skirmishing
began to cannonade at long range. Meantime
Cornwallis, with the main bod\^, made a long detour
192
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
of seventeen miles, and came upon tlie right flank
and rear of the Americans. Sullivan, who was on
the right, had failed to guard the fords above, and
through lack of information was practically sur¬
prised. Washington, on rumors that the enemy
were marching toward his right, with the instinct
of a great soldier was about to cross the river in
his front and crush the enemy there, but he also
was misled and kept back by false reports. When
the truth was known, it was too late. The right
wing had been beaten and flung back, the enemy
were nearly in the rear, and were now advancing in
earnest in front. All that man could do was done.
Troops were pushed forward and a gallant stand
was made at various points ; but the critical moment
had come and gone, and there was nothing for it
but a hasty retreat, which came near degenerating
into a rout.
The causes of this complete defeat, for such it
was, are easily seen. Washington had planned
his battle and chosen his position well. If he had
not been deceived by the first reports, he even
then would have fallen upon and overwhelmed the
British centre before they could have reached his
right wing. But the Americans, to begin with,
were outnumbered. They had only eleven thou¬
sand effective men, while the British brought fif¬
teen of their eighteen thousand into action. Then
the Americans suffered, as they constantly did,
from misinformation, and from an absence of sys¬
tem in learning the enemy’s movements. Wash-
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 193
ingtoii’s attack was fatally cliecked in tkis way, and
Sullivan was surprised from the same causes, as
well as from his own culpable ignorance of the
country beyond him, which was the reason of his
failure to guard the upper fords. The Americans
lost, also, by the unsteadiness of new troops when
the unexpected happens, and when the panic-bear¬
ing notion that they are surprised and likely to be
surrounded comes upon them with a sudden shock.
This defeat was complete and severe, and it
was followed in a few days by that of Wayne,
who narrowly escaped utter ruin. Yet through all
this disaster we can see the advance which had
been made since the equally unfortunate and very
similar battle on Long Island. Then, the troops
seemed to lose heart and courage, the army was
held together with difficulty, and could do nothing
but retreat. Now, in the few days which Howe, as
usual, gave us with such fatal effect to himself,
Washington rallied his army, and finding them in
excellent spirits inarched down the Lancaster road
to fight again. On the eve of battle a heavy storm
came on, which so injured the arms and munitions
that with bitter disappointment he was obliged to
withdraw, but nevertheless it is plain how much
this forward movement meant. At the moment,
however, it looked badly enough, especially after
the defeat of Wayne, for Howe pressed forward,
took possession of Philadelphia, and encamped the
main body of his army at Germantown.
Meantime Washington, who had not in the least
194
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
given up his idea of fighting again, recruited his
army, and having a little more than eight thousand
men, determined to try another stroke at the British,
while they were weakened by detachments. On
the night of October 3d he started, and reached
Germantown at daybreak on the 4th. At first
the Americans swept everything before them, and
flung the British back in rout and confusion. Then
matters began to go wrong, as is always likely to
happen when, as in this case, widely separated
and yet accurately concerted action is essential to
success. Some of the British threw themselves into
a stone house, and instead of leaving them there
under guard, the whole army stopped to besiege,
and a precious half hour was lost. Then Greene
and Stephen were late in coming up, having made
a circuit, and although when they arrived all seemed
to go well, the Americans were seized with an in¬
explicable panic, and fell back, as Wayne truly
said, in the very moment of victory. One of those
unlucky accidents, utterly unavoidable, but always
dangerous to extensive combinations, had a prin¬
cipal effect on the result. The morning was very
misty, and the fog, soon thickened by the smoke,
caused confusion, random firing, and, worst of all’
that uncertainty of feeling and action which some¬
thing or nothing converted into a panic. Never¬
theless, the Americans rallied quickly this time,
and a good retreat was made, under the lead of
Greene, until safety was reached. The action,
while it lasted, had been very sharp, and the losses
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 195
on both sides were severe, the Americans suffering
most.
Washington, as usual when matters went ill, ex¬
posed himself recklessly, to the great alarm of his
generals, but all in vain. He was deeply disap¬
pointed, and expressed himself so at first, for he
saw that the men had unaccountably given way
when they were on the edge of victory. The under¬
lying cause was of course, as at Long Island and
Brandywine, the unsteadiness of raw troops, and
Washington felt rightly, after the first sting had
passed, that he had really achieved a great deal.
Congress applauded the attempt, and when the
smoke of the battle had cleared away, men gener¬
ally perceived that its having been fought at all
was in reality the important fact. It made also
a profound impression upon the French cabinet.
Eagerly watching the course of events, they saw
the significance of the fact that an army raised
within a year could fight a battle in the open field,
endure a severe defeat, and then take the offensive
and make a bold and well-planned attack, which
narrowly missed being overwhelmingly successful.
To the observant and trained eyes of Europe, the
defeat at Germantown made it evident that there
was fighting material among these untrained colo¬
nists, capable of becoming formidable ; and that
there was besides a powerful will and directing
mind, capable on its part of bringing tliis same
material into the required shape and condition. To
dispassionate onlookers, England’s grasp on her
196
GEORGE WASHINGTON,
colonies appeared to be slipping away very rapidly.
Washington himself saw the meaning of it all
plainly enough, for it was but the development
of his theory of carrying on the war.
There is no indication, however, that England
detected, in all that had gone on since her army
landed at the Head of Elk, anything more than a
couple of natural defeats for the rebels. General
Howe was sufficiently impressed to draw in his
troops, and keep very closely shut up in Phila¬
delphia, but his country was not moved at all.
The fact that it had taken forty-seven days to get
their army from the Elk Kiver to Philadelphia,
and that in that time they had fought two success¬
ful battles and yet had left the American army
still active and menacing, had no effect upon the
Piitish mind. The English were thoroughly satis¬
fied that the colonists were cowards and were sure
to be defeated, no matter what the actual facts
might be. They regarded Washington as an up¬
start militia colonel, and they utterly failed to com¬
prehend that they had to do with a great soldier,
who was able to organize and lead an army, over¬
come incredible difficulties, beat and outgeneral
them, bear defeat, and then fight again. They
were unable to realize that the mere fact that
such a man could be produced and such an army
maintained meant the inevitable loss of colonies
three thousand miles away. IVfen there were in
England, undoubtedly, like Burke and Fox, who
felt and understood the significance of these thing's.
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 197
but tlie mass of the people, as well as the aristocracy,
the king, and the cabinet, would have none of
them. Kude contempt for other people is a warm¬
ing and satisfying feeling, no doubt, and the Eng¬
lish have had unquestionably great satisfaction
from its free indulgence. No one should grudge
it to them, least of all Americans. It is a comfort
for which they have paid, so far as this country is
concerned, by the loss of their North American
colonies, and by a few other settlements with the
United States at other and later times.
But although Washington and his army failed
to impress England, events had happened in the
north, during this same summer, which were so
sharp-pointed that they not only impressed the
English people keenly and unpleasantly, but they
actually penetrated the dull compreliension of
George III. and his cabinet. “ Why,*’ asked an
English lady of an American naval officer, in tbe
year of grace 1887 — “ why is your ship named
the Saratoga?” “Because,” was the reply, “at
Saratoga an English general and an English army
of more than five thousand men surrendered to an
American army and laid down their arms.” Al¬
though apparently neglected now in the general
scheme of British education, Saratoga was a mem¬
orable event in the summer of 1777, and the part
taken by Washington in bringing about the great
result has never, it would seem, been properly set
forth. There is no need to trace here the history
of that campaign, but it is necessary to show how
198
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
much was done by the commander-in-chief, five
hundred miles away, to win the final victory.
In the winter of 1776-77 reports came that a
general and an army were to be sent to Canada to
invade the colonies from the north by way of Lake
Champlain. The news does not seem to have made
a very deep impression generally, nor to have been
regarded as anything beyond the ordinary course
of military events. But there was one man, fortu¬
nately, who in an instant perceived the full signifi¬
cance of this movement. W^ashington saw that the
English had at last found an idea, or, at least, a
general possessed of one. So long as the British
confined themselves to fighting one or two battles,
and then, taking possession of a single town, were
content to sit down and pass their winter in good
quarters, leaving the colonists in undisturbed con¬
trol of all the rest of the country, there was nothing
to be feared. The result of such campaigning as
this could not be doubtful for a moment to any
clear-sighted man. But when a plan was on foot,
which, if successful, meant the control of the lakes
and the Hudson, and of a line of communication
from the north to the great colonial seaport, the
case was very different. Such a campaign as this
would cause the complete severance of New Eng¬
land, the chief source for men and supplies, from
the rest of the colonies. It promised the mastery,
not of a town, but of half a dozen States, and this
to the American cause probably would be ruin.
So strongly and clearly did Washington feel
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 199
all this that his counter-plan was at once ready,
and before people had fairly grasped the idea that
there was to be a northern invasion, he was send¬
ing, early in March, urgent letters to New England
to rouse up the militia and have them in readiness
to march at a moment’s notice. To Schuyler, in
command of the northern department, he began
now to write constantly, and to unfold the methods
which must be pursued in order to compass the de¬
feat of the invaders. His object was to delay the
army of Burgoyne by every possible device, while
steadily avoiding a pitched battle. Then the militia
and hardy farmers of New England and New York
were to be rallied, and were to fall upon the flank
and rear of the British, harass them constantly, cut
off their outlying parties, and finally hem them in
and destroy them. If the army and people of the
North could only be left undisturbed, it is evident
from his letters that Washington felt no doubt as
to the result in that quarter.
But the North included only half the conditions
essential to success. The grave danger feared by
AYashington was that Howe would understand the
situation, and seeing his opportunity, would throw
everything else aside, and marching northward
with twenty thousand men, would make himself
master of the Hudson, effect a junction with Bur¬
goyne at Albany, and so cut the colonies in twain.
From all he could learn, and from his knowledge of
his opponent’s character, AYashington felt satisfied
that Howe intended to capture Philadelphia, ad-
200
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
vancing, probably, through the Jerseys. Yet, de¬
spite his well-reasoned judgment on this point, it
seemed so incredible that any soldier could fail to
see that decisive victory lay in the north, and in
a junction with Burgoyne, that Washington could
not really and fully believe in such fatuity until he
knew that Howe was actually landing at the Head
of Elk. This is the reason for the anxiety dis¬
played in the correspondence of that summer, for
the changing and shifting movements, and for
the obvious hesitation of opinion, so unusual with
W^ashington at any time. Be it remembered,
moreover, that it was an awful doubt which went
to bed and got up and walked with him through
all those long nights and days. If Howe, the dull
and lethargic, should awake from his dream of
conquering America by taking now and again an
isolated town, and should break for the north
with twenty thousand men, the fortunes of the
young republic would come to their severest test.
In that event, Washington knew well enough
what he meant to do. He would march his main
army to the Hudson, unite with the strong body of
troops which he kept there constantly, contest every
inch of the country and the river with Howe, and
keep him at all hazards from getting to Albany.
^ But he also knew well that if this were done the
odds would be fearfully against him, for Howe
would then not only outnumber him very greatly,
but there would be ample time for the British to
act, and but a short distance to be covered. W^e
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 201
can imagine, therefore, his profound sense of relief
when he found that Howe and his army were really
south of Philadelphia, after a waste of many pre¬
cious weeks. He could now devote himself single-
hearted to the defence of the city, for distance and
time were at last on his side, and all that remained
was to fight Howe so hard and steadily that neither
in victory nor defeat would he remember Burgoyne.
Pitt said that he would conquer Canada on the
plains of Germany, and Burgoyne was compelled
to surrender in large measure by the campaign of
AVashington in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.
If we study carefully AYashington’s correspond¬
ence during that eventful summer, grouping to¬
gether that relating to the northern campaign, and
comparing it with that which dealt with the affairs
of his own army, all that has just been said comes
out with entire clearness, and it is astonishing to
see how exactly events justified his foresight. If
he could only hold Howe in the south, he was quite
willing to trust Burgoyne to the rising of the peo¬
ple and to the northern wilderness. Every effort
he made was in this direction, beginning, as has
been said, by his appeals to the New England
governors in Alarch. Schuyler, on his part, was
thoroughly imbued with AYashington’s other lead¬
ing idea, that the one way to victory was by retard¬
ing the enemy. At the outset everything wenf
utterly and disastrously wrong. AA'ashington
counted on an obstinate struggle, and a long delay
at Ticonderoga, for he had not been on the ground,
202
GEORGE WASHINGTON
and could not imagine that our officers would for¬
tify everything but the one commanding point.
The loss of the forts aj^palled the country and
disappointed Washington, but did not shake his
nerve for an instant. He wrote to Schuyler: “ This
stroke is severe indeed, and has distressed us much.
But notwithstanding things at present have a dark
and gloomy aspect, I hope a spirited opposition
will check the progress of General Burgoyne’s
army, and that the confidence derived from his
success will hurry him into measures that will, in
their consequences, be favorable to us. We should
never despair; our situation has before been un¬
promising, and has changed for the better; so I
tiust it will again. If new difficulties arise we
must only put forth new exertions, and proportion
our efforts to the exigency of the times.” Even
after this seemingly crushing defeat he still felt
sure of Burgoyne, so long as he was unsiipjiorted.
Suiting the action to the word, he again bent every
nerve to rouse New England and get out her militia.
I^hen he was satisfied that Howe was landing''’ be¬
low Philadelphia, tlie first thing he did was to send
forth the same cry in the same quarter, to bring
out more men against Burgoyne. He showed, too"^
the utmost generosity toward the northern armv,
sending thither all the troops he could jiossibly
spare, and even parting with his favorite corps of
IVIorgan’s riflemen. Despite his liberality, the
commanders in the north were unreasonable in their
demands, and when they asked too much. Washing-
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 203
ton flatly declined to send more men, for he would
not weaken himself unduly, and he knew what they
did not see, that the fate of the northern invasion
turned largely on his own ability to cope with
Ilowe.
The blame for the loss of the forts fell of course
upon Schuyler, who was none too popular in Con¬
gress, and who with St. Clair was accordingly
made a scape-goat. Congress voted that Wash¬
ington should appoint a new commander, and the
New England delegates visited him to urge the
selection of Gates. This task Washington refused
to perform, alleging as a reason that the northern
department had always been considered a separate
command, and that he had never done more than
advise. These reasons do not look very weighty
or very strong, and it is not quite clear what the
underlying motive was. Washington never shrank
from responsibility, and he knew very well that he
could pick out the best man more unerringly than
Congress. But he also saw that Congress favored
Gates, whom he would not have chosen, and he
therefore probably felt that it was more important
to have some one whom New England believed in
and approved than a better soldier who would have
been unwelcome to her representatives. It is certain
that he would not have acted thus, had he thought
that generalship was an important element in the
problem ; but he relied on a popular uprising, and
not on the commander, to defeat Burgoyne. He
may have thought, too, that it was a mistake to
204
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
relieve Schuyler, who was working in the directions
which he had pointed out, and who, if not a great
soldier, was a brave, high-minded, and sensible man,
devoted to his chief and to the country. It was
Schuyler indeed who, by his persistent labor in
breaking down bridges, tearing up roads, and fell¬
ing trees, while he gathered men industriously in
all directions, did more than any one else at that
moment to prepare the way for an ultimate victory.
Whatever his feelings may have been in regard
to the command of the northern departnient,
Washington made no change in his own course
after Gates had been appointed. He knew that
Gates was at least harmless, and not likely to block
the natural course of events. He therefore felt
free to press his own policy without cessation, and
without apprehension. He took care that Lincoln
and Arnold should be there to look after the New
Lngland militia, and he wrote to Governor Clinton,
in whose energy and courage he had great confi’
dence, to rouse up the men of New York. He suo*-
gested the points of attack, and at every moment
advised and counselled and watched, holding all the
while a firm grip on Howe. Slowly and surely the
net, thus painfully set, tightened round Burgoyne.
The New Englanders whipped one division at Ben¬
nington, and the New Yorkers shattered another at
Oriskany and Fort Schuyler. The country people
turned out in defence of their invaded homes and
poured into the American camp. Burgoyne strug¬
gled and advanced, fought and retreated. Gates,
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 205
stupid, lethargic, and good-natured, did nothing, hut
there was no need of generalship ; and Arnold was
there, turbulent and quarrelsome, but full of dar¬
ing ; and Morgan, too, equally ready ; and they and
others did all the necessary fighting.
Poor Burgoyne, a brave gentleman, if not a great
general, had the misfortune to be a clever man in
the service of a stupid administration, and he met
the fate usually meted out under such circumstances
to men of ideas. Howe went oft to the conquest of
Philadelphia, Clinton made a brief burning and
plundering raid up the river, and the northern in¬
vasion, which really had meaning, was left to its
fate. It was a hard fate, but there was no escape.
Outnumbered, beaten, and caught, Burgoyne sur¬
rendered. If there had been a fighting-man at
the head of the American army, the British would
have surrendered as prisoners of war, and not on
conditions. Schuyler, we may be sure, whatever
his failings, would never have let them off so easily.
But it was sufficient as it was. The wilderness,
and the militia of New York and New England
swarming to the defence of their homes, had done
the work. It all fell out just as Washington had
foreseen and planned, and England, despising her
enemy and their commander, saw one of her armies
surrender, and might have known, if she had had
the wit, that the colonies were now lost forever.
The Bevolution had been saved at Trenton ; it
was established at Saratoga. In the one case it
was the direct, in the other the indirect, work of
Washington.
206
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Poor Gates, with his dull brain turning under
the impression that this crowning mercy had been
his own doing, lost his head, forgot that there was
a commander-in-chief, and sending his news to Con¬
gress, left Washington to find out from chance
lumors, and a tardy letter from Putnam, that Bur-
goyne had actually surrendered. This gross slight,
however, had deeper roots than the mere exultation
of victory acting on a heavy and common mind. It
represented a hostile feeling which bad been slowly
increasing for some time, which had been carefully
nurtured by those interested in its growth, and
which blossomed rapidly in the heated air of mil¬
itary triumph. From the outset it had been Wash¬
ington s business to fight the enemy, manage the
army, deal with Congress, and consider in all its
bearings the political situation at home and abroad ;
but he was now called upon to meet a trouble out¬
side the line of duty, and to face attacks from
within, which, ideally speaking, ought never to have
existed, but which, in view of our very fallible
humanity, were certain to come sooner or later.
Much domestic malice Washington was destined
to encounter m the later years of political strife,
but this was the only instance in his military
career where enmity came to overt action and open
speech. The first and the last of its kind, this
assault upon him has much interest, for a strong
light is thrown upon his character by studying him,
thus beset, and by seeing just how he passed
through this most trying and disagreeable of or¬
deals.
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 207
The germ o£ the cliflBculties was to be found
where we should expect it, in the differences be¬
tween the men of speech and the man of action,
between the lawmakers and the soldier. Wash¬
ington had been obliged to tell Congress a great
many j^lain and unpleasant truths. It was part of
his duty, and he did it accordingly. He was al¬
ways dignified, calm, and courteous, but he had an
alarmingly direct way with him, especially when he
was annoyed. He was simple almost to bluntness,
but now and then would use a grave irony which
must have made listening ears tingle. Congress
was patriotic and well-intentioned, and on the
whole stood bravely by its general, but it was un¬
versed in war, very impatient, and at times wildly
impracticable. Here is a letter which depicts the
situation, and the relation between the general and
his rulers, with great clearness. March 14, 1777,
Washington wrote to the President : “ Could I ac¬
complish the important objects so eagerly wished
by Congress, — ‘ confining the enemy within their
present quarters, preventing their getting supplies
from the country, and totally subduing them be¬
fore they are reinforced,’ — I should be happy in¬
deed. But what prospect or hope can there be of
my effecting so desirable a work at this time ? ”
We can imagine how exasperating such requests
and suggestions must have been. It was very much
as if Congress had said : “ Good General, bring in
the Atlantic tides and drown the enemy ; or pluck
the moon from the sky and give it to us, as a mark
208
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
of your loyalty.” Sucli requests are not soothing to
any man struggling his best with great anxieties, and
with a host of petty cares. Washington, neverthe¬
less, kept his temper, and replied only by setting
down a few hard facts which answered the demands
of Congress in a final manner, and with all the
sting of truth. Thus a little irritation had been
generated in Congress against the general, and
there were some members who developed a good
deal of pronounced hostility. Sam Adams, a born
agitator and a trained politician, unequalled almost
in our history as an organizer and manager of
men, able, narrow, coldly fierce, the man of the
town meeting and the caucus, had no possibility
of intellectual sympathy with the silent, patient,
hard-gripping soldier, hemmed with, difficulties, but
ever moving straight forward to his object, with
occasional wild gusts of reckless fighting passion.
John Adams, too, brilliant of speech and pen, ar¬
dent, patriotic, and high-minded, was, in his way,
out of touch with Washington. Although he moved
Washington’s appointment, he began almost im¬
mediately to find fault with him, an exercise to
which he was extremely prone. Inasmuch as he
could see how things ought to be done, he could
not understand why they were not done in that way
at once, for he had a fine forgetfulness of other
people’s difficulties, as is the case with most of us.
The New England representatives generally took
their cue from these two, especially James Lovell,
who carried his ideas into action, and obtained a
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 209
little iiiclie in the temple of fame by making him¬
self disagreeably conspicuous in the intrigue against
the commander-in-chief, when it finally developed.
There were others, too, outside New England
who were discontented, and among them Richard
Henry Lee, from the General’s own State. He
was evidently critical and somewhat unfriendly at
this time, although the reasons for his being so are
not now very distinct. Then there was Mr. Clark
of New J ersey, an excellent man, who thought the
General was invading popular rights ; and to him
others might be added who vaguely felt that things
ought to be better than they were. This party, ad¬
verse to Washington, obtained the appointment of
Gates to the northern department, under whom the
army won a great victory, and they were corre¬
spondingly happy. John Adams wrote his wife
that one cause of thanksgiving was that the tide
had not been turned by the commander-in-chief
and southern troops, for the adulation would have
been intolerable ; and that a man may be wise and
virtuous and not a deity.
Here, so far as the leading and influential men
were concerned, the matter would have dropped,
probably ; but there were lesser men like Lovell
who were much encouraged by the surrender of
Burgoyne, and who thought that they now might
supplant Washington with Gates. Before long,
too, they found in the army itself some active and
not over-scrupulous allies. The most conspicuous
figure among the military malcontents was Gates
210
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
liimself, wlio, althougli sluggish in all things, still
had a keen eye for his own advancement. He
showed plainly how much his head had been turned
by the victory at Saratoga when he failed to in¬
form Washington of the fact, and when he after¬
ward delayed sending back troops until he was
driven to it by the determined energy of Hamilton,
who was sent to bring him to reason. Next in im¬
portance to Grates was Thomas Mifflin, an ardent
patriot, but a rather light-headed person, who es¬
poused the opposition to Washington for causes
now somewhat misty, but among which personal
vanity played no inconsiderable part. About these
two leaders gathered a certain number of inferior
officers of no great moment then or since.
The active and moving spirit in the party, how¬
ever, was one Conway, an Irish adventurer, who
made himself so prominent that the whole affair
passed into history bearing his name, and the
“ Conway cabal ” has obtained an enduring noto¬
riety which its hero never acquired by any public
services. Conway was one of the foreign officers
who had gained the favor of Congress and held the
rank of brigadier-general, but this by no means
filled the measure of his pretensions, and when
He Kalb was made a major-general Conway im¬
mediately started forward with claims to the same
rank. He received strong support from the fac¬
tious opposition, and there was so much stir that
Washington sharply interfered, for to his general
objection to these lavish gifts of excessive rank
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 211
was added an especial distrust in this particular
case. In his calm way he had evidently observed
Conway, and with his unerring judgment of men
had found him wanting. “ I may add,” he wrote to
Lee, “ and I think with truth, that it will give a
fatal blow to the existence of the army. Upon so
interesting a subject I must speak plainly. General
Conway’s merit then as an officer, and his impor¬
tance in this army, exist more in his own imagina¬
tion than in reality.” This plain talk soon reached
Conway, drove him at once into furious opposition,
and caused him to impart to the faction a cohesion
and vigor which they had before lacked. Circum¬
stances favored them. The victory at Saratoga
gave them something tangible to go upon, and the
first move was made when Gates failed to inform
Washington of the surrender, and then held back
the troops sent for so urgently by the commander-
in-chief, who had sacrificed so much from his own
army to secure that of the north.
At this very moment, indeed, when Washington
was calling for troops, he was struggling with the
utmost tenacity to hold control of the Delaware.
He made every arrangement possible to maintain
the forts, and the first assaults upon them were
repulsed with great slaughter, the British in the
attack on Fort Mercer losing Count Donop, the
leader, and four hundred men. Then came a
breaching space, and then the attacks were re¬
newed, supported by vessels, and both forts were
abandoned after the works had been levelled to
212
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the ground by the enemy’s fire. Meanwhile Ham¬
ilton, sent to the north, had done his work ; Gates
had been stirred, and Putnam, well-meaning but
stubborn, had been sharply brought to his bearings.
Keinforcements had come, and Washington medi¬
tated an attack on Philadelphia. There was a good
deal of clamor for something brilliant and decisive,
for both the army and the public were a little dizzy
from the effects of Saratoga, and with sublime blind¬
ness to different conditions, could not see why the
same performance should not be repeated to order
everywhere else. To oppose this wish was trying,
doubly trying to a man eager to fight, and with his
full share of the very human desire to be as suc¬
cessful as his neighbor. It required great nerve to
say No ; but Washington did not lack that quality,
and as general and statesman he reconnoitred the
enemy’s works, weighed the chances, said No deci¬
sively, and took up an almost impregnable position
at M kite M^arsh. Thereupon Howe announced
that he would drive Washington beyond the moun¬
tains, and on December 4th he approached the
American lines with this highly proper purpose.
There was some skirmishing along the foot of the
hills of an unimportant character, and on the third
day Washington, in high spirits, thought an attack
would be made, and rode among the soldiers direct¬
ing and encouraging them. Nothing came of it,
however, but more skirmishing, and the next day
Howe marched back to Philadelphia. He had of¬
fered battle in all ways, he had invited action ; but
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 213
again, with the same pressure both from his own
spirit and from public opinion, Washington had
said No. On his own ground he was more than
ready to fight Howe, but despite the terrible temp¬
tation he would fight on no other. Not the least
brilliant exploit of Wellington was the retreat to
the shrewdly prepared lines of Torres Vedras, and
one of the most difficult successes of W ashington
was his double refusal to fight as the year 1777
drew to a close.
Like most right and wise things, Washington’s
action looks now, a century later, so plainly sensible
that it is hard to imagine how any one could have
questioned it ; and one cannot, without a great
effort, realize the awful strain upon will and temper
involved in thus refusing battle. If the proposed
attack on Philadelphia had failed, or if our army
had come down from the hills and been beaten in
the fields below, no American army would have
remained. The army of the north, of which men
were talking so proudly, had done its work and
dispersed. The fate of the Pevolution rested
where it had been from the beginning, with Wash¬
ington and his soldiers. Drive them beyond the
mountains and there was no other army to fall
back upon. On their existence everything hinged,
and when Howe got back to Philadelphia, there
they were still existent, still coherent, hovering on
his flank, cooping him up in his lines, and leaving
him master of little more than the ground his men
encamped upon, and the streets his sentinels pa-
214
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
trolled. When Franklin was told in Paris that
Howe had taken Philadel|)hia, his reply was, “ Phi¬
ladelphia has taken Howe.”
But, with the exception of Franklin, contempo¬
rary opinion in the month of December, 1777, was
very different from that of to-day, and the cabal
had been at work ever since the commander-in¬
chief had stepped between Conway and the exor¬
bitant rank he coveted. Washington, indeed, was
perfectly aware of what was going on. He was
quiet and dignified, impassive and silent, but he
knew when men, whether great or small, were plot-
ting against him, and he watched them with the
same keenness as he did Howe and the British.
In the midst of his struggle to hold the Delaware
forts, and of his efforts to get back his troops from
the north, a story came to him that arrested his at¬
tention. Wilkinson, of Gates’s staff, had come to
Congress with the news of the surrender. He had
been fifteen days on the road and three days get¬
ting his papers in order, and when it was proposed
to give him a sword. Dr. Witherspoon, canny Scot
as he was, suggested that they had better “ gie the
lad a pair of spurs.” This thrust and some delay
seem to have nettled Wilkinson, who was swellino*
with importance, and although he was finally made
a brigadier-general, he rode off to the north much
ruffled. In later years Wilkinson was secretive
enough ; but in his hot youth he could not hold his
tongue, and on his way back to Gates he talked.
What he said was marked and carried to head-
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 215
quarters, and on November 9tb Wasliington wrote
to Conway :
“ A letter which I received last night contained the
following paragraph, — ‘ In a letter from General Con¬
way to General Gates he says, “ Heaven has determined
to save your country, or a weak general and had coun-
sellers woidd have ruined it.^’ I am, sir, your humble
servant,’ ” etc.
This curt note fell upon Conway with stunning
effect. It is said that he tried to apologize, and he
certainly resigned. As for Gates, he fell to writ¬
ing letters filled with expressions of wonder as to
who had betrayed him, and writhed most pitiably
under the exposure. Washington’s replies are
models of cold dignity, and the calm indifference
with which he treated the whole matter, while
holding Gates to the point with relentless grasp,
is very interesting. The cabal was seriously shaken
by this sudden blow. It must have dawned upon
them dimly that they might have mistaken their
man, and that the silent soldier was perhaps not
so easy to dispose of by an intrigue as they had
fancied. Nevertheless, they rallied, and taking ad¬
vantage of the feeling in Congress created by
Burgoyne’s surrender, they set to work to get con¬
trol of military matters. The board of war was
enlarged to five, with Gates at its head and Mifflin
a member, and, thus constituted, it proceeded to
make Conw'ay inspector-general, with the rank of
major-general. This, after Conway’s conduct, was
a direct insult to Washington, and marks the high¬
est point attained by his opponents.
216
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
In Congress, too, they became more active, and
John Jay said that there was in that body a party
bitterly hostile to Washington. We know little of
the members of that faction now, for they never
took the trouble to refer to the matter in after
years, and did everything that silence could do to
have it all forgotten. But the party existed none
the less, and significant letters have come down to
ns, one of them written by Lovell, and two anony¬
mous, addressed respectively to Patrick Henry and
to Laurens, then president, which show a bitter and
vindictive spirit, and breathe but one purpose. The
same thought is constantly reiterated, that with a
good general the northern army had won a great
victory, and that the main army, if commanded in
the same way, would do likewise. The plan was
simple and coherent. The cabal wished to drive
Washington out of power and replace him with
Gates. With this purpose they wrote to Henry
and Laurens ; with this purpose they made Con¬
way inspector-general.
When they turned from intrigue to action, how¬
ever, they began to fail. One of their pet schemes
was the conquest of Canada, and with this object
Lafayette was sent to the lakes, only to find that no
preparations had been made, because the origina¬
tors of the idea were ignorant and inefficient. The
expedition promptly collapsed and was abandoned,
with much instruction in consequence to Congress
and people. Under their control the commissariat
also went hopelessly to pieces, and a committee of
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 217
Congress proceeded to Valley Forge and found
that in this direction, too, the new managers had
grievously failed. Then the original Conway let¬
ter, uncovered so unceremoniously by Washington,
kept returning to plague its author. Gates’s corre¬
spondence went on all through the winter, and with
every letter Gates floundered more and more, and
Washington’s replies grew more and more freezing
and severe. Gates undertook to throw the blame
on Wilkinson, who became loftily indignant and
challenged him. The two made up their quarrel
very soon in a ludicrous manner, but Wilkinson in
the interval had an interview with Washington,
which revealed an amount of duplicity and perfidy
on the part of the cabal, so shocking to the for¬
mer’s sensitive nature, that he resigned his secre¬
taryship of the board of war on account, as he
frankly said, of the treachery and falsehood of
Gates. Such a quarrel of course hurt the cabal,
but it was still more weakened by Gates himself,
whose only idea seemed to be to supersede Wash¬
ington by slighting him, refusing troops, and de¬
clining to propose his health at dinner, — methods
as unusual as they were feeble.
The cabal, in fact, was so weak in ability and
character that the moment any responsibility fell
upon its members it was certain to break down,
but the absolutely fatal obstacle to its schemes was
the man it aimed to overthrow. The idea evidently
was that Washington could be driven to resign.
They knew that they could not get either Congress
218 GEORGE WA SUING TON.
or public opinion to support them in removing him,
but they believed that a few well placed slights and
insults would make him remove himself. It was
just here that they made their mistake. Washing¬
ton, as they were aware, was sensitive and high-
spirited to the last degree, and he had no love for
office, but he was not one of those weaklings who
leave power and place in a pet because they are
criticised and assailed. He was not ambitious in
the ordinary personal sense, but he had a passion
for success. Whether it was breaking a horse, or
reclaiming land, or fighting Indians, or saving a
state, whatever he set his hand to, that he carried
through to the end. With him there never was
any shadow of turning back. When, without any
self-seeking, he was placed at the head of the Rev¬
olution, he made up his mind that he would carry
it through everything to victory, if victory were
possible. Death or a prison could stop him, but
neither defeat nor neglect, and still less the forces
of intrigue and cabal.
When he wrote to his brother announcing Bur-
goyne s surrender, he had nothing to say of the
slight Gates put upon him, but merely added in a
postscript, “ I most devoutly congratulate my coun¬
try and every well-wisher to the cause on this sig¬
nal stroke of Providence.” This was his tone to
every one, both in private and public. His com¬
plaint of not being properly notified he made to
Gates alone, and put it in the form of a rebuke.
He knew of the movement against him from the
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 219
beginning, but apparently the first person he con¬
fided in was Conway, when he sent him the brief
note of November 9th. Even after the cabal was
fully developed, he wrote about it only once or
twice, when compelled to do so, and there is no evi¬
dence that he ever talked about it except, perhaps,
to a few most intimate friends. In a letter to
Patrick Henry he said that he was obliged to allow
a false impression as to his strength to go abroad,
and that he suffered in consequence ; and he added,
with a little touch of feeling, that while the yeo¬
manry of New York and New England poured into
the camp of Gates, outnumbering the enemy two to
one, he could get no aid of that sort from Pennsyl¬
vania, and still marvels were demanded of him.
Thus he went on his way through the winter,
silent except when obliged to answer some friend,
and always ready to meet his enemies. When
Conway complained to Congress of his reception at
camp, Washington wrote the president that he was
not given to dissimulation, and that he certainly
had been cold in his manner. He wrote to Lafay¬
ette that slander had been busy, and that he had
urged his officers to be cool and dispassionate as to
Conway, adding, “ I have no doubt that everything
happens for the best, that we shall triumph over all
our misfortunes, and in the end be happy ; when,
my dear Marquis, if you will give me your company
in Virginia, we will laugh at our past difficulties
and the folly of others.” But though he wrote thus
lightly to his friends, he followed Gates sternly
220
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
enougli, and kept that gentleman oecnpied as he
drove' him from point to point. Among other
things he touched upon Conway’s character with
sharp irony, saying, “ It is, however, greatly to he
lamented that this adej)t in military science did
not employ his abilities in the progress of the cam¬
paign, in pointing out those wise measures which
V ere calculated to give us ‘ that degree of success
we could reasonably expect.’ ”
Poor Gates did not find these letters pleasant
reading, and one more curt note, on February 24th,
finished the controversy. By that time the cabal
was falling to pieces, and in a little while was dis¬
persed. ilkinson’s resignation was accepted, Mif¬
flin was put under Washington’s orders, and Gates
was sent to his command in the north. Conway
resigned one day in a pet, and found his resigna¬
tion accepted and his power gone with unpleasant
suddenness. He then got into a quarrel with Gen¬
eral Cadwalader on account of his attacks on the
commander-in-chief. The quarrel ended in a duel.
Conway was badly wounded, and thinking himself
wrote a contrite note of apology to Wash¬
ington, then recovered, left the country, and dis¬
appeared from the ken of history. Thus domes¬
tic malice and the “bitter party” in Congress
failed and perished. They had dashed themselves
in vain against the strong man who held firmly
both soldiers and people. “ While the public are
satisfied with my endeavors, I mean not to shrink
from the cause.” So Washington wrote to Gordon
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 221
as the cabal was coming to an end, and in that
spirit he crushed silently and thoroughly the fac¬
tion that sought to thwart his purpose, and drive
him from office by sneers, slights, and intrigues.
These attacks upon him came at the darkest
moment of his military career. Defeated at Brandy¬
wine and Germantown, he had been forced from
the forts after a desperate struggle, had seen Phila¬
delphia and the river fall completely into the hands
of the enemy, and, bitterest of all, he had been
oblio^ed to hold back from another assault on the
British lines, and to content himself with baffling
Howe when that gentleman came out and offered
battle. Then the enemy withdrew to their com¬
fortable quarters, and he was left to face again the
harsh winter and the problem of existence. It was
the same ever recurring effort to keep the Ameri¬
can army, and thereby the American Revolution,
alive. There was nothing in this task to stir the
blood and rouse the heart. It was merely a ques¬
tion of grim tenacity of purpose and of the ability
to comprehend its overwhelming importance. It
was not a work that appealed to or inspirited any
one, and to carry it through to a successful issue
rested with the commander-in-chief alone.
In the frost and snow he withdrew to Valley
Forgfe, within easv striking distance of Philadel-
phia. He had literally nothing to rely upon but
his own stern will and strong head. His soldiers,
steadily dwindling in numbers, marked their road
to Valley Forge by the blood from their naked feet.
222
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
They were destitute and in rags. When they
reached their destination they had no shelter, and
it was only by the energy and ingenuity of the
General that they were led to build huts, and thus
secure a measure of protection against the weather.
There were literally no supplies, and the Board of
War failed completely to remedy the evil. The
army was in such straits that it was obliged to seize
by force the commonest necessaries. This was a
desperate expedient and shocked public opinion,
which Washington, as a statesman, watched and
cultivated as an essential element of success in
his difficult business. He disliked to take extreme
measures, but there was nothing else to be done
when his men were starving, when nearly three
thousand of them were unfit for duty because
“ barefoot and otherwise naked,” and when a large
part of the army were obliged to sit up all night
by the fires for warmth’s sake, having no blankets
with which to cover themselves if they lay down.
With nothing to eat, nothing to burn, nothing
wherewith to clothe themselves, wasting away from
exposure and disease, we can only wonder at the
forbearance which stayed the hand of violent seiz¬
ure so long. Yet, as Washington had foreseen,
there was even then an outcry against him. Never¬
theless, his action ultimately did more good than
harm in the very matter of public opinion, for it
opened men s eyes, and led to some tardy improve¬
ments and some increased effort.
Worse even than this criticism was the remon-
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 223
strance of the legislature of Pennsylvania against
the going into winter - quarters. They expected
Washington to keep the open field, and even to at¬
tack the British, with his starving, ragged army, in
all the severity of a northern winter. They had
failed him at every point and in every promise, in
men, clothing, and sujoplies. They were not con¬
tent that he covered their State and kept the Rev¬
olution alive among the huts of Valley Forge.
They wished the impossible. They asked for the
moon, and then cried out because it was not given
to them. It was a stupid, unkind thing to do, and
Washington answered their complaints in a letter
to the president of Congress. After setting forth
the shortcomings of the Pennsylvanians in the very
plainest of plain English, he said : “ But what
makes this matter still more extraordinary in my
eye is that these very gentlemen should think a
winter’s campaign, and the covering of these States
from the invasion of an enemy, so easy and prac¬
ticable a business. I can answer those gentlemen,
that it is a much easier and less distressing thing
to draw remonstrances in a comfortable room, by
a good fireside, than to occupy a cold, bleak hill,
and sleep under frost and snow, without clothes or
blankets. However, although they seem to have
little feeling for the naked and distressed soldiers,
I feel superabundantly for them, and from my soul
I pity those miseries which it is neither in my power
to relieve or prevent.”
This was not a safe man for the gentlemen of
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Pennsylvania to cross too far, nor could they swerve
him, with all his sense of public opinion, one jot
from what he meant to do. In the stern rebuke, and
in the deep pathos of these sentences, we catch a
glimpse of the silent and self-controlled man break¬
ing out for a moment as he thinks of his faithful
and suffering men. Whatever happened, he would
hold them together, for in this black time we detect
the fear which haunted him, that the people at large
might give way. He was determined on indepen¬
dence. He felt a keen hatred against England for
her whole conduct toward America, and this hatred
was sharpened by the efforts of the English to
injure him personally by forged letters and other
despicable contrivances. He was resolved that
England should never prevail, and his language in
regard to her has a fierceness of tone which is full
of meaning. He was bent, also, on success, and if
under the long strain the people should weaken or
waver, he was determined to maintain the army at
all hazards.
So, while he struggled against cold and hunger
and destitution, while he contended with faction at
home and lukewarmness in the administration of
the war,_ even then, in the midst of these trials, he
was devising a new system for the organization and
permanence of his forces. Congress meddled with
t le matter of prisoners and with the promotion of
officers, and he argued with and checked them, and
still pressed on in his plans. He insisted that
officers must have better provision, for they had
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 225
begun to resign. “You must appeal to tbeir inter¬
est as well as to tlieir patriotism, he wrote, and
you must give them half-pay and full pay in proper
measure.” “ You must follow the same policy with
the men,” he said 5 must have done with short
enlistments. In a word, gentlemen, you must give
me an army, a lasting, enduring, continental army,
for therein lies independence.” ^ It all comes out
now, through the dust of details and annoyances,
through the misery and suffering of that wretched
winter, through the shrill cries of ignorance and
hostility, — the great, clear, strong policy which
meant to substitute an army for militia, and thereby
secure victory and independence. It is the burden
of all his letters to the governors of States, and to
his officers everywhere. “ I will hold the army to¬
gether,” he said, “ but you on all sides must help
me build it up.” ^
Thus with much strenuous labor and many fer¬
vent appeals he held his army together in some
way, and slowly improved it. His system began to
be put in force, his reiterated lessons were coming
home to Congress, and his reforms and sugges¬
tions were in some measure adopted. Under the
sound and trained guidance of Baron Steuben a
drill and discipline were introduced, which soon
showed marked results. Greene succeeded Mifflin
as (|uartermaster-general, and brought order out of
chaos. The Conway cabal went to pieces, and as
1 These two quotations are not literal, of course, but give the
substance of many letters.
226
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
spring opened Washington began to see light once
more. To have held on through that winter was a
great feat, but to have built up and improved the
army at such a time was much more wonderful.
It shows a greatness of character and a force of
will rarer than military genius, and enables us to
understand better, perhaps, than almost any of his
victories, why it was that the success of the Eev-
olution lay in the hands of one man.
After Howe’s withdrawal from the Jerseys in the
previous year, a contemporary wrote that Washing¬
ton was left with the remnants of an army “ to
scuffle for liberty.” The winter had passed, and he
was prepared to scuffle again. On May 11th Sir
Henry Clinton relieved Sir William Howe at Phi¬
ladelphia, and the latter took his departure in a
blaze of mock glory and resplendent millinery,
known as the Mischianza, a fit close to a career of
failure, which he was too dull to appreciate. The
new commander was more active than his predeces¬
sor, but no^ cleverer, and no better fitted to cope
with Washington. It was another characteristic
choice on the part of the British ministry, who
could never muster enough intellect to understand
that the Americans would fight, and that they were
led by a really great soldier. The coming of Clin¬
ton did not alter existing conditions.
Expecting a movement by the enemy, Washing¬
ton sent Lafayette forward to watch Philadelphil
Clinton, fresh in office, determined to cut him off,
and by a rapid movement nearly succeeded in so
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 227
doing. Timely information, presence of mind, and
quickness alone enabled the young Frenchman to
escape, narrowly but completely. Meantime, a
cause for delay, that curse of the British through¬
out the war, supervened. A peace commission,
consisting of the Earl of Carlisle, William Eden,
and Governor Johnstone, arrived. They were ex¬
cellent men, but they came too late. Their propo¬
sitions three years before would have been well
enough, but as it was they were worse than nothing.
Coolly received, they held a fruitless interview with
a committee of Congress, tried to bribe and in¬
trigue, found that their own army had been already
ordered to evacuate Philadelphia without their
knowledge, and finally gave up their task in angry
despair, and returned to England to join in the
chorus of fault-finding which was beginning to
sound very loud in ministerial ears.
Meanwhile, Washington waited and watched,
puzzled by the delay, and hoping only to harass
Sir Henry with militia on the march to New York.
But as the days slipped by, the Americans grew
stronger, while Sir Henry weakened himself by
sending five thousand men to the West Indies,
and three thousand to Florida. When he finally
started, he had with him less than ten thousand
men, while the Americans had thirteen thousand,
nearly all continental troops. Under these circum¬
stances, Washington determined to bring on a bat¬
tle. He was thwarted at the outset by his officers,
as was wont to be the case. Lee had returned
228
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
more whimsical than ever, and at the moment was
strongly adverse to an attack, and was full of wise
saws about building a bridge of gold for the flying
enemy. The ascendancy which, as an English
officer, he still retained enabled him to get a cer¬
tain following, and the councils of war which were
held compared unfavorably, as Hamilton put it,
with the deliberations of midwives. TV^ashington
was harassed of course by all this, but he did not
stay his purpose, and as soon as he knew that
Clinton actually had marched, he broke camp at
Valley Eorge and started in pursuit. There were
more councils of an old-womanish character, but
finally Washington took the matter into his own
hands, and ordered forth a strong detachment to
attack the British rear-guard. They set out on
the 25th, and as Lee, to whom the command be¬
longed, did not care to go, Lafayette was put in
charge. As soon as Lafayette had departed, how¬
ever, Lee changed his mind, and insisted that all
the detachments in front, amounting to six thou¬
sand men, formed a division so large that it was
unjust not to give him the command. Washington,
therefore, sent him forward next day with two ad¬
ditional brigades, and then Lee by seniority took
command on the 27th of the entire advance.
In the evening of that day, Washington came
reconnoitred the enemy, and saw that, although
their position was a strong one, another day’s un¬
molested march would make it still stronger. He
theiefoie resolved to attack the next mornino^, and
to*
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 229
gave Lee then and there explicit orders to that
effect. In the early dawn he despatched similar
orders, but Lee apparently did nothing except
move feebly forward, saying to Lafayette, “ You
don’t know the British soldiers ; we cannot stand
against them.” He made a weak attempt to cut
off a covering party, marched and countermarched,
ordered and countermanded, until Lafayette and
Wayne, eager to fight, knew not what to do, and
sent hot messages to Washington to come to them.
Thus hesitating and confused, Lee permitted
Clinton to get his baggage and train to the front,
and to mass all his best troops in the rear under
Cornwallis, who then advanced against the Ameri¬
can lines. Now there were no orders at all, and
the troops did not know what to do, or where to
go. They stood still, then began to fall back,
and then to retreat. A very little more and there
would have been a rout. As it was, Washington
alone prevented disaster. His early reports from
the front from Dickinson’s outlying party, and
from Lee himself, were all favorable. Then he
heard the firing, and putting the main army in
motion, he rode rapidly forward. First he encoun¬
tered a straggler, who talked of defeat. He could
not believe it, and the fellow was pushed aside and
silenced. Then came another and another, all with
songs of death. Finally, officers and regiments be¬
gan to come. No one knew why they fled, or what
had happened. As the ill tidings grew thicker,
Washington spurred sharper and rode faster
230
GEORGE WASHINGTON,
throng'll the deep sand, and under the blazing mid-
suninier sun. At last he met Lee and the main
body all in full retreat. He rode straight at Lee,
savage with anger, not pleasant to look at, one may
guess, and asked fiercely and with a deep oath, tra¬
dition says, what it all meant. Lee was no coward,
and did not usually lack for words. He was, too,
a hardened man of the world, and, in the phrase
of that day, impudent to boot. But then and there
he stammered and hesitated. The fierce question
was repeated. Lee gathered himself and tried to
excuse and palliate what had happened, but although
the brief words that followed are variously reported
to us across the century, we know that Washington
rebuked him in such a way, and with such passion,
that all was over between them. Lee had com¬
mitted the one unpardonable sin in the eyes of
his commander. He had failed to fight when the
enemy was upon him. He had disobeyed orders
and retreated. It was the end of him. He went
to the rear, thence to a court-martial, thence to dis¬
missal and to a solitary life. He was an intelli¬
gent, quick-witted, unstable man, much overrated
because he was an English officer among a colonial
people. He was ever treated magnanimously by
Washington after the day of battle at Monmouth,
but he then disappeared from the latter’s life.
When Lee bowed before the storm and stepped
aside, Washington was left to deal with the danger
and confusion around him. Thus did he tell the
story afterwards to his brother: “A retreat, how-
MALICE DOMESTIC, AliD FOREIGN LEVY. 231
ever, was the fact, be the causes what they may ;
and the disorder arising from it would have proved
fatal to the army, had not that bountiful Provi¬
dence, which has never failed us in the hour of dis¬
tress, enabled me to form a regiment or two (of
those that were retreating) in the face of the enemy,
and under their fire ; by which means a stand was
made long enough (the place through which the
enemy were pressing being narrow) to form the
troops, that were advancing, upon an advantageous
piece of ground in the rear.” We cannot add
much to these simple and modest words, for they
tell the whole story. Having put Lee aside, Wash¬
ington rallied the broken troops, brought them
into position, turned them back, and held the en¬
emy in check. It was not an easy feat, but it was
done, and when Lee’s division again fell back in
good order the main army was in position, and the
action became general. The British were repulsed,
and then Washington, taking the offensive, drove
them back until he occupied the battlefield of the
morning. Night came upon him still advancing.
He halted his army, lay down under a tree, his sol¬
diers lying on their arms about him, and planned a
fresh attack, to be made at daylight. But when the
dawn came it was seen that the British had crept
off, and were far on their road. The heat pre¬
vented a rapid pursuit, and Clinton got into New
York. Between there and Philadelphia he had
lost two thousand men, Washington said, and mod¬
ern authorities put it at about fifteen hundred, of
whom nearly five hundred fell at Monmouth.
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
It is wortli wliilo to pausG a niomGiit and comparG
this battle with the rout of Long Island, the sur¬
prise at the Brandywine, and the fatal unsteadiness
at Germantown. Here, too, a check was received
at the outset, owing to blundering which no one
could have foreseen. The troops, confused and
without orders, began to retreat, but without panic
or disorder. The moment Washington appeared
t Gy ralliGd, rGturiiGd to tho fiold, showod porfoct
steadiness, and the victory was won. Monmouth
has never been one of the famous battles of the
Eevolution, and yet there is no other which can
compare with it as an illustration of Washington’s
ability as a soldier. It was not so much the way
m which it was fought, although that was fine
enough, but its importance lies in the evidence
which it gives of the way in which Washington,
after a series of defeats, during a winter of terrible
suffering and privation, had yet developed his
volunteers into a well-disciplined and effec¬
tive army. The battle was a victory, but the exist¬
ence and the quality of the army that won it were
a far greater triumph.
The dreary winter at Valley Forge had indeed
boTne fruit. With a slight numerical superiority
Washington had fought the British in the open
field, and fairly defeated them. “ Clinton gained
no advantage,” said the great Frederic, “Lcept
to reach New York with the wreck of his army ;
America is probably lost for England.” Another
year had passed, and England had lost an army,
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 233
iind still held what she had before, the city of New
York. Washington was in the field with a better
army than ever, and an army flushed with a victory
which had been achieved after difficulties and trials
that no one now can rightly picture or describe.
The American Revolution was advancing, held
firm by the master-hand of its leader. Into it,
during these days of struggle and of battle, a new
element had come, and the next step is to see how
Washington dealt with the fresh conditions upon
which the great conflict bad entered.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ALLIES.
On May 4th, 1778, Congress ratified the treaties
of commerce and alliance with France. On the
6th, Washington, waiting at Valley Forge for the
Biitish to start from Philadelphia, caused his army,
drawn out on parade, to celebrate the great event
with cheers and with salvos of artillery and mus¬
ketry. The alliance deserved cheers and celebra¬
tion, for it marked a long step onward in the Revo¬
lution. It showed that America had demonstrated
to Europe that she could win independence, and it
had been proved to the traditional enemy of Eng¬
land that the time had come when it would be pro¬
fitable to help the revolted colonies. But the alli¬
ance brought troubles as well as blessings in its
train. It induced a relaxation in popular energy,
and carried with it new and difficult problems for
the commander-in-chief. The successful manage¬
ment of allies, and of allied forces, had been one of
the severest tests of the statesmanship of William
III., and had constituted one of the principal glo¬
ries of Marlborough. A similar problem now con¬
fronted the American general.
Washington was free from the diplomatic and
THE ALLIES.
235
political portion o£ the business, but the military
and popular part fell wholly into his hands, and
demanded the exercise of talents entirely different
from those of either a general or an administrator.
It has been not infrequently written more or less
plainly, and it is constantly said, that Washington
was great in character, but that in brains he was
not far above the commonplace. It is even hinted
sometimes that the father of his country was a dull
man, a notion which we shall have occasion to ex¬
amine more fully further on. At this point let the
criticism be remembered merely in connection with
the fact that to cooperate with allies in military mat¬
ters demands tact, quick perception, firmness, and
patience. In a word, it is a task which calls for the
finest and most highly trained intellectual powers,
and of which the difficulty is enhanced a thousand¬
fold when the allies were, on the one side, an old,
aristocratic, punctilious people, and on the other,
colonists utterly devoid of tradition, etiquette, or
fixed habits, and very much accustomed to go their
own way and speak their own minds with care¬
less freedom. AVith this problem Washington was
obliged suddenly to deal, both in ill success and good
success, as well as in many attempts which came
to nothing. Let us see how he solved it at the
very outset, when everything went most perversely
wrong.
On July 14th he heard that D’Estaing’s fleet
was off the coast, and at once, without a trace of
elation or excitement, he began to consider the
236
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
possibility of intercepting tlie British fleet expected
to arrive shortly from Cork. As soon as D’Estaing
w^as within reach he sent two of his aides on board
the flagship, and at once opened a corres23ondence
with his ally. These letters of welcome, and those
of suggestion which followed, are models, in their
way, of what such letters ought always to be. They
were perfectly adapted to satisfy the etiquette and
the love of good manners of the French, and yet
there was not a trace of anything like servility, or
of an effusive gratitude which outran the favors
granted. They combined stately courtesy with
simple dignity, and are phrased with a sober grace
which shows the thoroughly strong man, as capable
to turn a sentence, if need be, as to rally retreating
soldiers in the face of the enemy.
In this first meeting of the allies nothing hap¬
pened fortunately. D’Estaing had had a long pas¬
sage, and was too late to cut off Lord Howe at the
Delaware. Then he turned to New York, and was
too late there, and found further that he could not
get his ships over the bar. Hence more delays, so
that he was late again in getting to Newport, where
he was to unite with Sullivan in driving* the Brit¬
ish from Ehode Island, as Washington had planned,
in case of failure at New York, while the French
were still hovering on the coast. When D’Estaing
finally reached Newport, there was still another
delay of ten days, and then, just as he and Sul¬
livan were preparing to attack. Lord Howe, with
his squadron reinforced, appeared off the harbor.
THE ALLIES.
237
Promising to return, D’Estaing sailed out to give
tlie enemy battle, and after mucli manoeuvring
both fleets were driven off by a severe storm, and
D’Estaing came back only to tell Sullivan that he
must go to Boston at once to refit. Then came
the protest addressed to the Count and signed by
all the American officers ; then the departure of
D’Estaing, and an indiscreet proclamation to the
troops by Sullivan, reflecting on the conduct of
the allies.
When D’Estaing had actually gone, and the
Americans were obliged to retreat, there was much
grumbling in all directions, and it looked as if
the first result of the alliance was to be a very
pretty quarrel. It was a bad and awkward bus¬
iness. Congress had the good sense to suppress
the protest of the officers, and Washington, disap¬
pointed, but perhaps not wholly surprised, set him¬
self to work to put matters right. It was no easy
task to soothe the French, on the one hand, who
were naturally aggrieved at the utterances of the
American officers and at the popular feeling, and
on the other to calm his own people, who were, not
without reason, both disappointed and provoked.
To Sullivan, fuming with wrath, he wrote : “ Should
the expedition fail through the abandonment of the
French fleet, the officers concerned will be apt to
complain loudly. But prudence dictates that we
should put the best face upon the matter, and to
the world attribute the removal to Boston to neces¬
sity. The reasons are too obvious to need explain-
238
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
ing.” And again, a few days later : “ First imj)res-
sions, you know, are generally longest remembered,
and will serve to fix in a great degree our national
character among the French. In our conduct to¬
wards them we should remember that they are a
people old in war, very strict in military etiquette,
and apt to take fire when others scarcely seem
warmed. Permit me to recommend, in the most
particular manner, the cultivation of harmony and
good agreement, and your endeavor to destroy that
ill-humor which may have got into officers.” To
Lafayette he wrote : “ Everybody, sir, who reasons,
will acknowledge the advantages which we have
derived from the French fleet, and the zeal of
the commander of it ; but in a free and republican
government you cannot restrain the voice of the
multitude. Every man will speak as he thinks,
or, more properly, without thinking, and conse¬
quently will judge of effects without attending to
the causes. The censures which have been levelled
at the French fleet would more than probably have
fallen in a much higher degree upon a fleet of our
own, if we had had one in the same situation. It
is the nature of man to be displeased with every¬
thing that disappoints a favorite hope or flattering
project ; and it is the folly of too many of them
to condemn without investigating circumstances.”
Finally he wrote to D’Estaing, deploring the differ¬
ence which had arisen, mentioning his own efforts
and wishes to restore harmony, and said : “ It is in
the trying circumstances to which your Excellency
THE ALLIES.
239
lias been exposed that the virtues of a great mind
are displayed in their brightest lustre, and that a
general’s character is better known than in the
moment of victory. It was yours by every title that
can give it ; and the adverse elements that robbed
you of your prize can never deprive you of the
glory due you. Though your success has not been
equal to your expectations, yet you have the satis¬
faction of reflecting that you have rendered essen¬
tial services to the common cause.” This is not
the letter of a dull man. Indeed, there is a nicety
about it that partakes of cleverness, a much com¬
moner thing than greatness, but something which
all great men by no means possess. Thus by tact
and comprehension of human nature, by judicious
sup23ression and judicious letters, Washington,
through the prudent exercise of all his commanding
influence, quieted his own people and soothed his
allies. In this way a serious disaster was averted,
and an abortive exj)edition was all that "was left
to be regretted, instead of an ugly quarrel, which
might readily have neutralized the vast advantages
flowing from the French alliance.
Having refitted, D’Estaing bore away for the
West Indies, and so closed the first chapter in the
history of the alliance with France. Nothing more
was heard of the allies until the spring was well
advanced, when M. Gerard, the minister, wrote,
intimating that D’Estaing was about to return, and
asking what we would do. Washington replied at
lenglh, professing his willingness to cooperate in
240
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
any way, and offering, if the French would send
ships, to abandon everything, run all risks, and
make an attack on New York. Nothing further
came of it, and Washington heard that the fleet
had gone to the Southern States, which he learned
without regret, as he was apprehensive as to the
condition of affairs in that region. Again, in the
autumn, it was reported that the fleet was once
more upon the northern coast. Washington at
once sent officers to be on the lookout at the most
likely points, and he wrote elaborately to D’Es-
taing, setting forth with wonderful perspicuity the
incidents of the past, the condition of the present,
and the probabilities of the future. He was willing
to do anything, or plan anything, provided his allies
would join with him. The jealousy so habitual in
humanity, which is afraid that some one else may
get the glory of a common success, was unknown
to W ashington, and if he could but drive the British
from America, and establish American indepen¬
dence, he was perfectly willing that the glory should
take care of itself. But all his wisdom in dealiiip*
O
with the allies was, for the moment, vain. While
he was planning for a great stroke, and calling out
the militia of New England, D’Estaing was making
ready to relieve Georgia, and a few days after
Washington wrote his second letter, the French
and Americans assaulted the British works at
Savannah, and were repulsed with heavy losses.
Then D’Estaing sailed away again, and the second
effort of France to aid England’s revolted colonies
THE ALLIES.
241
came to an end. Their presence had had a good
moral effect, and the dread of D’Estaing’s return
had caused Clinton to withdraw from Newport and
concentrate in New York. This was all that was
actually accomplished, and there was nothing for
it but to await still another trial and a more con¬
venient season.
With all his courtesy and consideration, with all
his readiness to fall in with the wishes and schemes
of the French, it must not be supposed that Wash-
inofton ever went an inch too far in this direction.
He valued the French alliance, and proposed to use
it to great purpose, but he was not in the least daz¬
zled or blinded by it. Even in the earliest glow
of excitement and hope produced by D’Estaing s
arrival, Washington took occasion to draw once
more the distinction between a valuable alliance
and volunteer adventurers, and to remonstrate
again with Congress about their reckless profusion
in dealing with foreign officers. To Gouverneur
Morris he wrote on July 24, 1778: “The lavish
manner in which rank has hitherto been bestowed
on these gentlemen will certainly be productive of
one or the other of these two evils : either to make
it despicable in the eyes of Europe, or become the
means of pouring them in upon us like a torrent
and adding to our present burden. But it is nei¬
ther the expense nor the trouble of them that I
most dread. There is an evil more extensive in
its nature, and fatal in its consequences, to be ap¬
prehended, and that is the driving of all our own
242
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
officers out of the service, and. throwing* not only our
army, but our military councils, entirely into the
hands of foreigners. . . . Baron Steuben, I now
find, is also wanting to quit his inspectorship for a
command in the line. This will be productive of
much discontent to the brigadiers. In a word, al¬
though I think the baron an excellent officer, I do
most devoutly wish that we had not a single for¬
eigner among us except the Marquis de Lafayette,
who acts upon very different principles from those
which govern the rest.” A few days later he said,
on the same theme, to the president of Congress :
“ I trust you think me so much a citizen of the
world as to believe I am not easily warped or led
away by attachments merely local and American ;
yet I confess I am not entirely without them, nor
does it appear to me that they are unwarrantable,
if confined within proper limits. Fewer promo¬
tions in the foreign line would have been produc¬
tive of more harmony, and made our warfare more
agreeable to all parties.” Again, he said of Steu¬
ben: “I regret that there should be a necessity
that his services should be lost to the army; at the
same time I think it my duty explicitly to observe
to Congress that his desire of having an actual and
permanent command in the line cannot be complied
with without wounding the feelings of a number of
officers, whose rank and merits give them every
claim to attention ; and that the doing of it would
be productive of much dissatisfaction and extensive
ill consequences.”
THE ALLIES.
243
Washington’s resistance to the colonial deference
for foreigners has already been pointed out, but
this second burst of opposition, coming at this espe¬
cial time, deserves renewed attention. The splendid
fleet and well-equipped troops of our ally were
actually at our gates, and everybody was in a
paroxysm of perfectly natural gratitude. To the
colonial mind, steeped in colonial habits of thought,
the foreigner at this particular juncture appeared
more than ever to be a splendid and superior be¬
ing. But he did not in the least confuse or sway
the cool judgment that guided the destinies of the
Revolution. Let us consider well the pregnant
sentences just quoted, and the letters from which
they are taken. They deserve it, for they throw a
strong light on a side of Washington’s mind and
character too little appreciated. One hears it said
not infrequently, it has been argued even in print
with some solemnity, that Washington was, no
doubt, a great man and rightly a national hero, but
that he was not an American. It will be necessary
to recur to this charge again and consider it at
some length. It is sufficient at this point to see
how it tallies with his conduct in a single matter,
which was a very perfect test of the national and
American quality of the man. We can get at the
truth by contrasting him with his own contempo¬
raries, the only fair comparison, for he was a man
and an American of his own time and not of the
present day, which is a point his critics overlook.
Where he differed from the men of his own time
244
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
was in the fact that he rose to a breadth and height
of Americanism and of national feeling which no
other man of that day touched at all. Nothing
is more intense than the conservatism of mental
habits, and although it requires now an effort to
realize it, it should not be forgotten that in every
habit of thought the inhabitants of the thirteen
colonies were wholly colonial. If this is properly
appreciated we can understand the mental breadth
and vigor which enabled Washington to shake off
at once all past habits and become an independent
leader of an independent people. He felt to the
very core of his being the need of national self-
respect and national dignity. To him, as the chief
of the armies and the head of the Eevolution, all
men, no matter what tongue they spake or what
country they came from, were to be dealt with on
a footing of simple equality, and treated according
to their merits. There was to him no glamour in
the fact that this man was a Frenchman and that
an Englishman. His own personal pride extended
to his people, and he bowed to no national supe¬
riority anywhere. Hamilton was national through¬
out, but he was born outside the thirteen colonies,
and knew his fellow-citizens only as Americans.
Franklin was national by the force of his own
commanding genius. John Adams grew to the
same conception, so far as our relations to other
nations were concerned. But beyond these three
we may look far and closely before we find another
among all the really great men of the time who
THE ALLIES.
245
freed himself wholly from the superstition of the
colonist about the nations of Europe.
When W ashington drew his sword beneath the
Cambridge elm he stood forth as the first Amer¬
ican, the best type of man that the New World
could produce, with no provincial taint upon him,
and no shadow of the colonial past clouding his
path. It was this great quality that gave the strug¬
gle which he led a character it would never have
attained without a leader so constituted. Had he
been merely a colonial Englishman, had he not
risen at once to the conception of an American
nation, the world would have looked at us with
very different eyes. It was the splendid dignity
of the man, quite as much as his fighting capacity,
which impressed Europe. Kings and ministers,
looking on dispassionately, soon realized that here
was a really considerable man, > no ordinary agita¬
tor or revolutionist, but a great man on a great
stage with great conceptions. England, indeed,
talked about a militia colonel, but this chatter dis-
appeared in the smoke of Trenton, and even Eng¬
land came to look upon him as the all-powerful
spirit of the Revolution. Dull men and colonial
squires do not grasp a great idea and carry it into
action on the world’s stage in a few months. To
stand forward at the head of raw armies and of a
colonial people as a national leader, calm, dignified,
and far-seeing, requires not only character, but in¬
tellect of the highest and strongest kind. Now
that we have come as a people, after more than a
246 GEORGE WASHINGTON.
century’s struggle, to the national feeling which
Washington compassed in a moment, it is well to
consider that single achievement and to meditate
on its meaning, whether in estimating him, or in
gauging what he was to the American people when
they came into existence.
Let us take another instance of, the same quality,
shown also in the winter of 1778. Congress had
from the beginning a longing to conquer Canada,
which was a wholly natural and entirely lauda¬
ble desire, for conquest is always more interesting
than defence. Washington, on the other hand,
after the first complete failure, which was so nearly
a success in the then undefended and unsuspicious
country, gave up pretty thoroughly all ideas of
attacking Canada again, and opposed the various
plans of Congress in that direction. When he had
a life-aiid-death struggle to get together and subsist
enough men to protect their own firesides, he had
ample reason to know that invasions of Canada
were hopeless. Indeed, not much active opposi¬
tion from the commander-in-chief was needed to
dispose of the Canadian schemes, for facts settled
them as fast as they arose. AVhen the cabal got
up its Canadian expedition, it consisted of La¬
fayette, and penetrated no farther than Albany.
So Washington merely kept his eye watchfully on
Canada, and argued against expeditions thither,
until this winter of 1778, when something quite
new in that direction came up.
Lafayette s imagination had been fired by the
TUE ALLIES.
247
notion of conquering Canada. His idea was to
get succors from France for this especial purpose,
and with them and American aid to achieve the
conquest. Congress was impressed and pleased by
the scheme, and sent a report upon it to Frank¬
lin, to communicate to the French court, but Wash¬
ington, when he heard of the plan, took a very
different view. He sent at once a long despatch
to Congress, urging every possible objection to
the proposed campaign, on the ground of its ut¬
ter impracticability, and with this official letter,
which was necessarily confined to the military side
of the question, went another addressed to Presi¬
dent Laurens personally, which contained the
deej^er reasons of his opposition. He said that
there was an objection not touched upon in his
public letter, which was absolutely insurmountable.
This was the introduction of French troops into
Canada to take possession of the capital, in the
midst of a people of their own race and religion,
and but recently severed from them.
He pointed out the enormous advantages which
would accrue to France from the possession of
Canada, such as independent posts, control of the
Indians, and the Newfoundland trade. “ France,
. . . possessed of New Orleans on our right,
Canada on our left, and seconded by the numer¬
ous tribes of Indians in our rear, . . . would, it
is much to be apprehended, have it in her power
to give law to these States.” He went on to
show that France might easily find an excuse for
I
248
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
such conduct, in seeking a surety for her advances
of money, and that she had but little to fear
from the contingency of our being driven to re¬
unite with England. He continued : “ Men are
very apt to run into extremes. Hatred to Ens:-
land may carry some into an excess of confi¬
dence in France, especially when motives of grati¬
tude are thrown into the scale. Men of this de¬
scription would be unwilling to suppose France
capable of acting so ungenerous a part. I am
heartily disposed to entertain the most favorable
sentiments of our new ally, and to cherish them in
others to a reasonable degree. But it is a maxim,
founded on the universal experience of mankind,
that no nation is to be trusted farther than it is
.j own interest ; and no prudent states¬
man or politician will venture to depart from it.
In our circumstances we ought to be particularly
cautious ; for we have not yet attained sufficient
vigor and maturity to recover from the shock of
any false steps into which we may unwarily fall.”
We shall have occasion to recall these utterances
at a later day, but at this time they serve to show
yet again how broadly and clearly Washington
judged nations and policies. Uppermost in his
mind was the destiny of his own nation, just com¬
ing into being, and from that firm point he watched
and reasoned. His words had no effect on Con¬
gress, but as it turned out, the plan failed through
adverse influences in the quarter where Washing¬
ton least expected them. He believed that this
TEE ALLIES.
249
Canadian plan had been put into Lafayette’s mind
by the cabinet of Louis XVI., and he could not im¬
agine that a policy of such obvious wisdom could
be overlooked by French statesmen. In this he
was completely mistaken, for France failed to see
what seemed so simple to the American general,
that the opportunity had come to revive her old
American policy and reestablish her colonies under
the most favorable conditions. The ministers of
Louis XVI., moreover, did not wish the colonies
to conquer Canada, and the plan of Lafayette
and the Congress received no aid in Paris and
came to nothing. But the fruitless incident exhib¬
its in the strongest light the attitude of Washing¬
ton as a purely American statesman, and the com¬
prehensiveness of his mind in dealing with large
affairs.
The French alliance and the coming of the
French fleet were of incalculable advantage to the
colonies, but they had one evil effect, as has already
been suggested. To a people weary with unequal
conflict, it was a debilitating influence, and America
needed at that moment more than ever energy and
vigor, both in the council and the field. Yet the
general outlook was distinctly better and more en¬
couraging. Soon after Washington had defeated
Clinton at Monmouth, and had taken a position
whence he could watch and check him, he wrote to
his friend General Nelson in Virginia : —
“ It is not a little pleasing, nor less wonderful to
contemplate, that, after two years’ manoeuvring and
250
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
undergoing the strangest vicissitudes that perhaps
ever attended any one contest since the creation,
both armies are brought back to the very point
they set out from, and that the offending party at
the beginning is now reduced to the spade and
pickaxe for defence. The hand of Providence has
been so conspicuous in all this that he must be
worse than an infidel that lacks faith, and more
than wicked that has not gratitude enough to ac¬
knowledge his obligations. But it will be time
enough for me to turn preacher when my present
appointment ceases.”
He had reason to congratulate himself on the
result of his two years’ campaigning, but as the
summer wore away and winter came on he found
causes for fresh and deep alarm, despite the good
outlook in the field. The demoralizing effects of
civil war were beginning to show themselves in
various directions. The character of Congrress, in
point of ability, had declined alarmingly, for the
able men of the first Congress, with few exceptions,
had departed. Some had gone to the army, some
to the diplomatic service, and many had remained
at home, preferring the honors and offices of the
States to those of the Confederation. Their suc¬
cessors, patriotic and well-meaning though they
were, lacked the energy and force of those who
had started the Bevolution, and, as a consequence,
Congress had become feeble and ineffective, easily
swayed by influential schemers, and unable to cope
with the difficulties which surrounded them.
THE ALLIES.
251
Outside the government the popular tone had
deteriorated sadly. The lavish issues of irredeem¬
able paper by the Confederation and the States had
brought their finances to the verge of absolute ruin.
The continental currency had fallen to something
like forty to one in gold, and the decline was hast¬
ened by the forged notes put out by the enemy.
The fluctuations of this paper soon bred a spirit
of gambling, and hence came a class of men, both
inside and outside of politics, who sought, more or
less corruptly, to make fortunes by army contracts,
and by forestalling the markets. These develop¬
ments filled Washington with anxiety, for in the
financial troubles he saw ruin to the army. The
unpaid troops bore the injustice done them with
wonderful patience, but it was something that could
not last, and Washington knew the danger. In
vain did he remonstrate. It seemed to be impos¬
sible to get anything done, and at last, in the
following spring, the outbreak began. Two New
Jersey regiments refused to march until the as¬
sembly made provision for their pay. Washington
took high ground with them, but they stood re¬
spectfully firm, and finally had their way. Not
lone: after came another outbreak in the Connecti-
cut line, with similar results. These object lessons
had some result, and by foreign loans and the
ability of Eobert Morris the country was enabled
to stumble along ; but it was a frightful and wear¬
ing anxiety to the commander-in-chief.
Washington saw at once that the root of the evil
252
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
lay in the feebleness of Congress, and although he
could not deal with the finances, he was able to
strive for an improvement in the governing body.
Not content with letters, he left the army and went
to Philadelphia, in the winter of 1779, and there
appealed to Congress in person, setting forth the
perils which beset them, and urging action. He
wrote also to his friends everywhere, pointing out
the deficiencies of Congress, and begging them to
send better and stronger men. To Benjamin Har¬
rison he wrote : “ It appears to me as clear as ever
the sun did in its meridian brightness, that America
never stood in more eminent need of the wise,
patriotic, and spirited exertions of her sons than
at this period ; . . . the States separately are too
much engaged in their local concerns, and have too
many of their ablest men withdrawn from the gen¬
eral council, for the good of the common weal.”
He took the same high tone in all his letters, and
there can be seen through it all the desperate en¬
deavor to make the States and the people under¬
stand the dangers which he realized, but which they
either could not or would not appreciate.
On the other hand, while his anxiety was sharp¬
ened to the highest point by the character of Con¬
gress, his sternest wrath was kindled by the gam¬
bling and money-making which had become rampant.
To Keed he wrote in December, 1778 ; “ It gives
me sincere pleasure to find that there is likely to be
a coalition of the Whigs in your State, a few only
excepted, and that the assembly is so well disposed
THE ALLIES.
253
to second your endeavors in bringing those murder¬
ers of our cause, the monopolizers, forestallers, and
engrossers, to condign punishment. It is much to
be lamented that each State, long ere this, has not
hunted them down as pests to society and the
greatest enemies we have to the happiness of Amer¬
ica. I would to God that some one of the most
atrocious in each State was hung in gibbets upon
a gallows five times as high as the one prepared
by Haman. No punishment, in my opinion, is too
great for the man who can build his greatness upon
his country’s ruin.” He would have hanged them
too had he had the power, for he was always as
good as his word.
It is refreshing to read these righteously angry
words, still ringing as sharply as when they were
written. They clear away all the myths — the
priggish, the cold, the statuesque, the dull myths
— as the strong gusts of the northwest wind in
autumn sweep oft the heavy mists of lingering Au¬
gust. They are the hot words of a warm-blooded
man, a good hater, who loathed meanness and
treachery, and who would have hanged those who
battened upon the country’s distress. When he
went to Philadelphia, a few weeks later, and saw
the state of things with nearer view, he felt the
wretchedness and outrage of such doings more
than ever. He wrote to Harrison : “ If I were to
be called upon to draw a picture of the times and
of men, from what I have seen, heard, and in part
know, I should in one word say, that idleness, dis-
254
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
sipation, and extravagance seem to have laid fast
hold of most of them ; that speculation, peculation,
and an insatiable thirst for riches seem to have
got the better of every other consideration, and al¬
most of every order of men ; that party disputes
and personal quarrels are the great business of the
day ; whilst the momentous concerns of an empire,
a great and accumulating debt, ruined finances, de¬
preciated money, and want of credit, which, in its
consequences, is the want of everything, are but
secondary considerations, and postponed from day
to day, from week to week, as if our affairs wore
the most promising aspect.”
Other men talked about empire, but he alone
grasped the great conception, and felt it in his
soul. To see not only immediate success imper¬
illed, but the future paltered with by small, mean,
and dishonest men, cut him to the quick. He set
himself doggedly to fight it, as he always fought
every enemy, using both speech and pen in all quar¬
ters. Much, no doubt, he ultimately effected, but
he was contending with the usual results of civil
war, which are demoralizing always, and especially
so among a young people in a new country. At
first, therefore, all seemed vain. The selfishness,
“ peculation, and speculation ” seemed to get worse,
and the tone of Congress and the people lower, as
he struggled against them. In March, 1779, he
wrote to James Warren of Massachusetts : “ Noth¬
ing, I am convinced, but the depreciation of our
currency, aided by stock-jobbing and party dissen-
THE ALLIES.
255
sions, has fed the hopes of the enemy, and kept the
British arms in America to this day. They do not
scruple to declare this themselves, and add that we
shall be our own conquerors. Can not our com¬
mon country, America, possess virtue enough to
disappoint them ? Is the paltry consideration of a
little pelf to individuals to be placed in competi¬
tion with the essential rights and liberties of the
present generation, and of millions yet unborn?
Shall a few designing men, for their own aggran¬
dizement, and to gratify their own avarice, overset
the goodly fabric we have been rearing, at the ex¬
pense of so much time, blood, and treasure ? And
shall we at last become the victims of our own lust
of gain ? Forbid it. Heaven ! Forbid it, all and
every State in the Union, by enacting and enforc¬
ing efficacious laws for checking the growth of
these monstrous evils, and restoring matters, in
some degree, to the state they were in at the com¬
mencement of the war.”
“ Our cause is noble. It is the cause of man¬
kind, and the danger to it is to be apprehended
from ourselves. Shall we slumber and sleep, then,
while we should be punishing those miscreants
who have brought these troubles upon us, and who
are aiming to continue us in them ; while we should
be striving to fill our battalions, and devising ways
and means to raise the value of the currency, on
the credit of which everything depends ? ” Again
we see the prevailing idea of the future, which
haunted him continually. Evidently, he had some
256
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
imagination, and also a power of terse and elo¬
quent expression wMcli we have heard of before,
and shall note again.
Still the appeals seemed to sound in deaf ears.
He wrote to George Mason ; “ I have seen, without
despondency, even for a moment, the hours which
America has styled her gloomy ones ; but I have
beheld no day since the commencement of hostili¬
ties that I have thought her liberties in such im¬
minent danger as at present. . . . Indeed, we are
verging so fast to destruction that I am filled
with sensations to which I have been a stranger
till within these three months.” To Gouverneur
Morris he said : “ If the enemy have it in their
power to press us hard this campaign, I know not
what may be the consequence.” He had faced the
enemy, the bleak winters, raw soldiers, and all the
difficulties of impecunious government, with a
cheerful courage that never failed. But the spec¬
tacle of widespread popular demoralization, of self¬
ish scrambles for plunder, and of feeble adminis¬
tration at the centre of government weighed upon
him heavily. It was not the general’s business to
build up Congress and grapple with finance, but
Washington addressed himself to the new task with
his usual persistent courage. It was slow and
painful work. He seemed to make no progress,
and then it was that his spirits sank at the prospect
of ruin and defeat, not coming on the field of battle,
but from our own vices and our own lack of energy
and wisdom. Yet his work told in the end, as it
THE ALLIES.
257
always did. His vast and steadily growing influ¬
ence made itself felt even through the dense trou¬
bles of the uneasy times. Congress turned with
energy to Europe for fresh loans. Lafayette worked
away to get an army sent over. The two Morrises,
stimulated by Washington, flung themselves into
the financial difficulties, and feeble but distinct ef¬
forts toward a more concentrated and better organ¬
ized administration of public affairs were made
both in the States and the confederation.
But, although Washington’s spirits fell, and his
anxieties became wellnigh intolerable in this period
of reaction which followed the French alliance,
he made no public show of it, but carried on his
own work with the army and in the field as usual,
contending with all the difficulties, new and old,
as calmly and efficiently as ever. After Clinton
slipped away from Monmouth and sought refuge
in New York, Washington took post at convenient
points and watched the movements of the enemy.
In this way the summer passed. As always, Washr
ington’s first object was to guard the Hudson, and
while he held this vital point firmly, he waited,
ready to strike elsewhere if necessary. It looked
for a time as if the British intended to descend on
Boston, seize the town, and destroy the French fleet,
which had gone there to refit. Such was the opin¬
ion of Gates, then commanding in that department,
and as Washington inclined to the same belief, the
fear of this event gave him many anxious moments.
He even moved his troops so as to be in readiness
258
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
to march eastward at short notice ; but he gradu¬
ally became convinced that the enemy had no such
plan. Much of his thought, now and always, was
given to efforts to divine the intentions of the Brit¬
ish generals. They had so few settled ideas, and
were so tardy and lingering when they had plans,
that it is small wonder that their opponents were
sorely puzzled in trying to find out what their pur¬
poses were, when they really had none. The fact
was that Washington saw their military opportu¬
nities with the eye of a great soldier, and so much
better than they, that he suffered a good deal of
needless anxiety in devising methods to meet at¬
tacks which they had not the wit to undertake.
He had a profound contempt for their policy of
holding towns, and believing that they must see the
utter futility of it, after several years of trial, he '
constantly expected from them a well-planned and
extensive campaign, which in reality they were in¬
capable of devising.
The main army, therefore, remained quiet, and
when the autumn had passed went into winter-
quarters in well-posted detachments about New
York. In December Clinton made an ineffectual
raid, and then all was peaceful again, and Wash¬
ington was able to go to Philadelphia and struggle
with Congress, leaving his army more comfortable
and secuie than they had been in any previous
winter.
In January he informed Congress as to the next
campaign. He showed them the impossibility of
THE ALLIES.
259
undertaking anything on a large scale, and an¬
nounced his intention of remaining on the defen¬
sive. It was a trying policy to a man of his tem¬
per, but he could do no better, and he knew, now
as always, what others could not yet see, that by
simply holding on and keeping his army in the
field he was slowly but surely winning independ¬
ence. He tried to get Congress to do something
with the navy, and he planned an expedition, un¬
der the command of Sullivan, to overrun the Indian
country and check the barbarous raids of the Tories
and savages on the frontier ; and with this he was
fain to be content. In fact, he perceived very
clearly the direction in which the war was tending.
He kept up his struggle with Congress for a per¬
manent army, and with the old persistency pleaded
that something should be done for the officers, and
at the same time he tried to keep the States in
good humor when they were grumbling about the
amount of protection afforded them.
But all this wear and tear of heart and brain
and temper, while given chiefly to hold the army
together, was not endured with any notion that he
and Clinton were eventually to fight it out in the
neighborhood of New York. Washington felt that
that part of the conflict was over. He now hoped
and believed that the moment would come, when,
by uniting his army with the French, he should be
able to strike the decisive blow. Until that time
came, however, he knew that he could do nothing
on a great scale, and he felt that meantime the
260
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
British, abandoning practically the eastern and
middle States, would make one last desperate strug¬
gle for victory, and would make it in the south.
Long before any one else, he appreciated this fact,
and saw a peril looming large in that region, where
everybody was considering the British invasion as
little more than an exaggerated raid. He foresaw,
too, that we should suffer more there than we had
in the extreme north, because the south was full
of Tories and less well organized.
All this, however, did not change his own plans
one jot. He believed that the south must work out
its own salvation, as New York and New England
had done with Burgoyne, and he felt sure that in
the end it would be successful. But he would not
go south, nor take his army there. The instinct of
a great ^commander for the vital point in a war or
a battle, is as keen as that of the tiger is said to
be for the jugular vein of its victim. The British
might overrun the north or invade the south, but
he would stay where he was, with his grip upon
New York and the Hudson River. The tide of in¬
vasion might ebb and flow in this region or that,
but the British were doomed if they could not di¬
vide the eastern colonies from the others. When
the appointed hour came, he was ready to abandon
everything and strike the final and fatal blow ; but
until then he waited and stood fast with his army,
holding the great river in his grasp. Pie felt much
more anxiety about the south than he had felt
about the north, and expected Congress to consult
THE ALLIES.
261
him as to a commander, having made up his mind
that Greene was the man to send. But Congress
still believed in Gates, who had been making trou¬
ble for Washington all winter ; and so Gates was
sent, and Congress in due time got their lesson,
and found once more that Washington understood
men better than they did.
In the north the winter was comparatively un¬
eventful. The spring passed, and in June Clinton
came out and took possession of Stony Point and
Verplanck’s Point, and began to fortify them. It
looked a little as if Clinton might intend to. get
control of the Hudson by slow approaches, fortify¬
ing, and then advancing until he reached West
Point. With this in mind, Washington at once
determined to check the British by striking sharply
at one of their new posts. Having made up his
mind, he sent for Wayne and asked him if he would
storm Stony Point. Tradition says that Wayne
replied, “ I will storm hell, if you will plan it.” A
true tradition, probably, in keeping with Wayne’s
character, and pleasant to us to-day as showing
with a vivid gleam of rough human speech the
utter confidence of the army in their leader, that
confidence which only a great soldier can inspire.
So Washington planned, and Wayne stormed, and
Stony Point fell. It w^as a gallant and brilliant feat
of arms, one of the most brilliant of the war. Over
five hundred prisoners were taken, the guns were
carried off, and the works destroyed, leaving the
British to begin afresh with a good deal of increased
262 GEORGE WASHINGTON.
caution and respect. Not long after, Harry Lee
stormed Paulus Hook with equal success, and the
British were checked and arrested, if they intended
any extensive movement. On the frontier, Sulli¬
van, after some delays, did his work effectively,
ravaging the Indian towns and reducing them to
quiet, thus taking away another annoyance and
danger.
In these various ways Clinton’s circle of activity
was steadily narrowed, but it may be doubted
whether he had any coherent plan. The principal
occupation of the British was to send out maraud¬
ing expeditions and cut off outlying parties. Tryon
burned and pillaged in Connecticut, Matthews in
Virginia, and others on a smaller scale elsewhere
in New Jersey and New York. The blundering
stupidity of this system of warfare was only
equalled by its utter brutality. Houses were
burned, peaceful villages went up in smoke, women
and children were outraged, and soldiers were bay¬
oneted after they had surrendered. These details
of the Revolution are wellnigh forgotten now, but
when the ear is wearied with talk about English
generosity and love of fair play, it is well to turn
back and study the exploits of Tiyon, and it is not
amiss in the same connection to recall that Eng¬
lish budgets contained a special appropriation for
scalping-knives, a delicate attention to the Tories
and Indians who were burning and butchering on
the frontier.
Such methods of warfare Washington despised
THE ALLIES.
263
intellectually, and hated morally. He saw that
every raid only hardened the people against Eng¬
land, and made her cause more hopeless. The
misery caused by these raids angered him, but he
would not retaliate in kind, and Wayne bayoneted
no English soldiers after they laid down their arms
at Stony Point. It was enough for Washington
to hold fast to the great objects he had in view,
to check Clinton and circumscribe his movements.
Steadfastly he did this through the summer and
winter of 1779, which proved one of the worst
that he had yet endured. Supplies did not come,
the army dwindled, and the miseries of Valley
Forge were renewed. Again was repeated the old
and pitiful story of appeals to Congress and the
States, and again the undaunted spirit and strenu¬
ous exertions of Washington saved the army and
the Pevolution from the internal ruin which was his
worst enemy. When the new year began, he saw
that he was again condemned to a defensive cam¬
paign, but this made little difference now, for what
he had foreseen in the spring of 1779 became cer¬
tainty in the autumn. The active war was trans¬
ferred to the south, where the chapter of disasters
was beginning, and Clinton had practically given
up everything except New York. The war had
taken on the new phase expected by Washington.
Weak as he was, he began to detach troops, and
prepared to deal with the last desperate effort of
England to conquer her revolted colonies from the
south.
CHAPTER IX.
ARNOLD S TREASON, AND THE WAR IN THE
SOUTH.
The spring of 1780 was the beginning of a
period of inactivity and disappointment, of dili¬
gent effort and frustrated plans. During the
months which ensued before the march to the
south, Washington passed through a stress of
harassing anxiety, which was far worse than any¬
thing he had to undergo at any other time. Plans
were formed, only to fail. Opportunities arose,
only to pass by unfulfilled. The network of hos¬
tile conditions bound him hand and foot, and it
seemed at times as if he could never break the
bonds that held him, or prevent or hold back the
moral, social, and political dissolution going on
about him. W^ith the aid of France, he meant to
strike one decisive blow, and end the struggle.
oment was of importance, and yet the
days and weeks and months slipped by, and he
could get nothing done. He could neither gain
control of the sea, nor gather sufficient forces of
his own, although delay now meant ruin. He
saw the British overrun the south, and he could
not leave the Hudson. He was obliged to sacri-
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
265
fice the southern States, and yet he could get
neither ships nor men to attack New York. The
army was starving and mutinous, and he sought
relief in vain. The finances were ruined. Con¬
gress was helpless, the States seemed stupefied.
Treason of the most desperate kind suddenly
reared its head, and threatened the very citadel of
the Kevolution. These were the days of the war
least familiar to posterity. They are unmarked in
the main by action or fighting, and on this dreary
monotony nothing stands out except the black
stain of Arnold’s treason. Yet it was the time of
all others when Washington had most to bear. It
was the time of all others when his dogged persist¬
ence and unwavering courage alone seemed to sus¬
tain the flickering fortunes of the war.
In April Washington was pondering ruefully
on the condition of affairs at the south. He saw
that the only hope of saving Charleston was in
the defence of the bar ; and when that became in¬
defensible, he saw that the town ought to be aban^
doned to the enemv, and the armv withdrawn to
the country. His military genius showed itself
again and again in his perfectly accurate judg¬
ment on distant campaigns. He seemed to appre¬
hend all the conditions at a glance, and although
his wisdom made him refuse to issue orders when
he was not on the ground, those generals who fol¬
lowed his suggestions, even when a thousand miles
away, were successful, and those who disregarded
them were not. Lincoln, commanding at Charles-
266
GEORGE WASHIEIGTON.
ton, was a brave and loyal man, but he had neither
the foresight nor the courage to withdraw to the
country, and then, hovering on the lines of the
enemy, to confine them to the town. He yielded
to the entreaties of the citizens and remained, only
to surrender. ashington had retreated from
^^ew ork, and after five years of fighting the
British still held it, and had gone no further. He
had refused to risk an assault to redeem Philadel¬
phia at the expense of much grumbling and curs-
ing, and had then beaten the enemy when they
hastily retreated thence in the following spring.
His cardinal doctrine was that the Kevolution de¬
pended upon the existence of the army, and not on
the possession of any particular spot of ground, and
his masterly adherence to this theory brought
victory, slowly but surely. Lincoln’s very natural
inability to grasp it, and to withstand popular pres¬
sure, cost us for a time the southern States and a
great deal of bloody fighting.
In the midst of this anxiety about the south, and
when he foresaw the coming disasters, Washino-ton
was cheered and encouraged by the arrival of
Lafayette, whom he loved, and who brought good
tidings of his zealous work for the United States
in Paris. An army and a fleet were on their way
to America, with a promise of more to follow. This
was great news indeed. It is interesting to note how
^Vashington took it, for we see here with unusual
clearness the readiness of grasp and quickness of
thought which have been noted before, but which
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
267
are not commonly attributed to him. It has been
the fashion to treat Washington as wise and pru¬
dent, but as distinctly slow, and when he was obliged
to concentrate public opinion, either military or
civil, or when doubt overhung his course, he moved
with great deliberation. When he required no
concentration of opinion, and had made up his
mind, he could strike with a terribly swift deci¬
sion, as at Trenton or Monmouth. So when a new
situation presented itself he seized with wonder¬
ful rapidity every phase and possibility opened by
changed conditions.
The moment he learned from Lafayette that the
French succors were actually on the way, he began
to lay out plans in a manner which showed how he
had taken in at the first glance every chance and
every contingency. He wrote that the decisive
moment was at hand, and that the French succors
would be fatal if not used successfully now. Con¬
gress must improve their methods of administra¬
tion, ' and for this purpose must appoint a small
committee to cooperate with him. This step he
demanded, and it was taken at once. Fresh from
his interview with Lafayette, he sent out orders
to have inquiries made as to Halifax and its de¬
fences. Possibly a sudden and telling blow might
be struck there, and nothing should be overlooked.
He also wrote to Lafayette to urge upon the French
commander an immediate assault on New York
tlie moment he landetl. Yet despite his thought
for New York, he even then began to see the oppor-
268
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
tunities which were destined to develop into York-
town. He had longed to go to the south before,
and had held back only because he felt that the
main army and New York were still the key of the
position, and could not be safely left. Now, while
planning the capture of New York, he asked in a
letter whether the enemy was not more exposed at
the southward and therefore a better subject for a
combined attack there. Clearness and precision of
plan as to the central point, joined to a j)erfect
readiness to change suddenly and strike hard and
decisively in a totally different quarter, are sure
marks of the great commander. We can find them
all through the correspondence, but here in May,
1780, they come out with peculiar vividness. They
are qualities arising from a wide foresight, and
from a sure and quick perception. They are not
the qualities of a slow or heavy mind.
On J line 1st came the news of the surrender
of Charleston and the loss of the army, which was
followed by the return of Clinton to New York.
The southern States lay open now to the enemy,
and it was a severe trial to Washington to be
unable to go to their rescue ; but with the same
dogged adherence to his ruling idea, he concen¬
trated his attention on the Hudson with renewed
vigilance on account of Clinton’s return. Adver¬
sity and prosjoerity alike were unable to divert him
from the control of the great liver and the mas-
teiy of the middle States until he saw conclusive
victory elsewhere fairly within his grasp. In the
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
269
same unswerving way he pushed on the prepara¬
tions for what he felt to be the coming of the deci¬
sive campaign and the supreme moment of the war.
To all the governors went urgent letters, calling on
the States to fill their lines in the continental army,
and to have their militia in readiness.
In the midst of these anxieties and preparations,
the French arrived at Newport, bringing a well-
equipped arhiy of some five thousand men, and a
small fleet. They brought, too, something quite as
important, in the way of genuine good-will and full
intention to do all in their power for their allies.
After a moment’s hesitation, born of unlucky
memories, the people of Rhode Island gave De
Rochambeau a hearty welcome, and Washington
sent him the most cordial greeting. With the
greeting went the polite but earnest request for
immediate action, together with plans for attack¬
ing New York ; and, at the same time, another
urgent call went out to the States for men, money,
and supplies. The long looked-for hour had ar¬
rived, a fine French army was in Newport, a French
fleet rode in the harbor, and instead of action, im¬
mediate and effective, the great event marked only
the beginning of a period of delays and disappoint¬
ment, wearing heart and nerve almost beyond en¬
durance.
First it appeared that the French ships could
not get into New York harbor. Then there was
sickness in the French army. Then the British
menaced Newport, and rapid preparations had to be
270
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
made to meet that danger. Then it came out that
De Rochambeau was ordered to await the arrival
of the second division of the army, with more ships ;
and after due waiting, it was discovered that the
aforesaid second division, with their ships, were
securely blockaded by the English fleet at Brest.
On our side it was no better ; indeed, it was rather
worse. There was lack of arms and powder. The
drafts were made with difficulty, and tfie new levies
came in slowly. Supplies failed altogether, and on
every hand there was nothing but delay, and ever
fresh delay, and in the midst of it all Washington,
wrestling with sloth and incoherence and ineffi¬
ciency, trampled down one failure and disappoint¬
ment only to encounter another, equally important,
equally petty, and equally harassing.
On August 20th he wrote to Congress a long and
most able letter, which set forth forcibly the evil
and perilous condition of affairs. After reading
that letter no man could say that there was not need
of the utmost exertion, and for the expenditure of
the last ounce of energy. In it W ashington struck
especially at the two delusions with which the people
and their representatives were lulling themselves
into security, and by which they were led to relax
their efforts. One was the belief that England was
breaking down ; the other, that the arrival of the
Erencb was synonymous with the victorious close
of the war. Washington demonstrated that Eng¬
land still commanded the sea, and that as long as
she did so there was a great advantage on her side.
THE WAR IN THE ^SOUTH.
271
She was stronger, on the whole, this year than the
year before, and her financial resources were still
ample. There was no use in looking for victory in
the weakness of the enemy, and on the other hand, to
rely wholly on France was contemptible as well as
foolish. After stating plainly that the army was
on the verge of dissolution, he said : “ To me it will
appear miraculous if our affairs can maintain them¬
selves much longer in their present train. If either
the temper or the resources of the country will not
admit of an alteration, we may expect soon to be
reduced to the humiliating condition of seeing the
cause of America, in America, upheld by foreign
arms. The generosity of our allies has a claim to
all our confidence and all our gratitude, but it is
neither for the honor of America, nor for the inter¬
est of the common cause, to leave the work entirely
to them.”
It must have been bitter to Washington above
all men, with his high dignity and keen sense
of national honor, to write such words as these,
or make such an argument to any of his coun¬
trymen. But it was a work which the time de¬
manded, and he did it without flinching. Hav¬
ing thus laid bare the weak places, he proceeded
to rehearse once more, with a weariness we can
easily fancy, the old, old lesson as to organization,
a permanent army, and a better system of adminis¬
tration. This letter neither scolded, nor bewailed,
nor desponded, but it told the truth with great
force and vigor. It, of course, had but slight
272
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
results, comparatively speaking, still it did some¬
thing, and the final success o£ the Kevolution is due
to the series of strong truth-telling letters, of which
this is an example, as much as to any one thing
done by Washington. There was need of some
one, not only to fight battles and lead armies, but
to drive Congress into some sort of harmony, spur
the careless and indifferent to action, arouse the
States, and kill various fatal delusions, and in
Washington the robust teller of unwelcome truths
was found.
Still, even the results actually obtained by such
letters came but slowly, and Washington felt that
he must strike at all hazards. Through Lafayette
he tried to get De Rochambeau to agree to an im¬
mediate attack on New York. His army was on the
very eve of dissolution, and he began with reason to
doubt his own power of holding it together longer.
The finances of the country were going ever faster
to irremediable ruin, and it seemed impossible that
anything could postpone open and avowed bank¬
ruptcy. So, with his army crumbling, mutinous,
and half starved, he turned to his one unfailing
resource of fighting, and tried to persuade De
Rochambeau to join him. Under the circumstances,
Washington was right to wish to risk a battle, and
De Rochambeau, from his point of view, was
equally so in refusing to take the offensive, unless
the second division arrived or De Gnichen came
with his fleet, or the English force at New York
was reduced.
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
273
In these debates and delays, mingled with an
appeal to De Guichen in the AV^est Indies, the
summer was fast wearing away, and, by way of
addition, early in September came tidings of the
battle of Camden, and the utter rout of Gates’s
army. Despite his own needs and trials, TV^ashing-
ton’s first idea was to stem the current of disaster
at the south, and he ordered the fresh Maryland
troops to turn back at once and march to the Caro-
linas, but Gates fled so fast and far that it was some
time before anything was heard of him. As more
news came of Camden and its beaten general,
Washington wrote to Rutledge that he should ulti¬
mately come southward. Meantime, he could only
struo’o’le with his own difficulties, and rack his
brains for men and means to rescue the south. It
must have seemed to Washington, in those lovely
September days, as if fate could not have any worse
trials in store, and that if he could only breast the
troubles now surging about him, he might count on
sure and speedy success. Yet the bitterest trial of
all was even then hanging over his head, and with
a sort of savage sarcasm it came upon him in one of
those rare moments when he had an hour of rest
and sunshine.
The story of Arnold’s treason is easily told. Its
romantic side has made it familiar to all Ameri¬
cans, and given it a factitious importance. Had it
succeeded it would have opened vast opportunities
of disaster to America. It failed, and had no
result whatever. It has passed into history simply
274
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
as a picturesque episode, charged with possibilities .
which fascinate the imagination, but having, in it¬
self, neither meaning nor consequences beyond the
two conspirators. To us it is of interest, because
It shows Washington in one of the sharpest and
bitterest experiences of his life. Let us see how
he met it and dealt with it.
From the day when the French landed, both
De Kochambeau and Washington had been most
anxious to meet. The French general had been
particularly urgent, but it was difficult for Wash¬
ington to get away. As he wrote on August 21st :
“ We are about ten miles from the enemy. Our
popular government imposes a necessity of great
circumspection. If any misfortune should happen
in my absence, it would be attended with every
inconvenience. I will, however, endeavor if possi¬
ble, and as soon as possible, to meet you at some
convenient rendezvous.” In accordance with this
promise, a few weeks later, he left Greene in com¬
mand of the army, and, hot without misgivings,
started on September 18th to meet De Kocham¬
beau. On his way he had an interview with Ar¬
nold, who came to him to show a letter from the
loyalist Colonel Robinson, and thus disarm suspi¬
cion as to his doings. On the 20th, the day when
Andre and Arnold met to arrange the terms of
the sale, Washington was with De Kochambeau at
Hartford. News had arrived, meantime, that De
Guichen had sailed for Europe ; the command of
the sea was therefore lost, and the opportunity for
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
275
action had gone by. There was no need for fur¬
ther conference, and Washington accordingly set
out on his return at once, two or three days earlier
than he had intended.
He was accompanied by his own staff, and by
Knox and Lafayette with their officers. With him,
too, went the young Count Dumas, who has left a
description of their journey, and of the popular en¬
thusiasm displayed in the towns through which they
passed. In one village, which they reached after
nightfall, all the people turned out, the children
bearing torches, and men and women hailed Wash¬
ington as father, and pressed about him to touch
the hem of his garments. Turning to Dumas he
said, “We may be beaten by the English ; it is the
chance of war ; but there is the army they will
never conquer.” Political leaders grumbled, and
military oiSicers caballed, but the popular feeling
went out to Washington with a sure and utter con¬
fidence. The people in that little village recog¬
nized the great and unselfish leader as they recog¬
nized Lincoln a century later, and from the masses
of the people no one ever heard the cry that Wash¬
ington was cold or unsympathetic. They loved
him, and believed in him, and such a manifestation
of their devotion touched him deeply. His spirits
rose under the spell of appreciation and affection,
always so strong upon human nature, and he rode
away from Fishkill the next morning at daybreak
with a lio^ht heart.
The company was pleasant and lively, the morn-
276 GEORGE WAiiHlNGTON.
ing was fair, and as they approached Arnold’s head¬
quarters at the Robinson house, Washington turned
off to the redoubts by the river, telling the young
men that they were all in love with Mrs. Arnold
and would do well to go straight on and breakfast
with her. Hamilton and McHenry followed his
advice, and while they were at breakfast a note
was brought to Arnold. It was the letter of warn¬
ing from Andre announcing his capture, which
Colonel Jameson, who ought to have been cashiered
for doing it, had forwarded. Arnold at once left
the table, and saying that he was going to West
Point, jumped into his boat and was rowed rapidly
down the river to the British man-of-war. Wash¬
ington on his arrival was told that Arnold had
gone to the fort, and so after a hasty breakfast he
went over there himself. On reaching West Point
no salute broke the stillness, and no guard turned
out to receive him. He was astonished to learn
that his arrival was unexpected, and that Arnold
had not been there for two days. Still unsuspect¬
ing he inspected the works, and then returned.
Meantime, the messenger sent to Hartford with
the papers taken on Andrd reached the Robinson
house and delivered them to Hamilton, together
with a letter of confession from Andre himself.
Hamilton read them, and hurrying out met Wash¬
ington just coming up from the river. He took his
chief aside, said a few words to him in a low voice,
and they w^ent into the house together. When
they came out, W ashington looked as calm as ever.
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
277
and calling to Lafayette and Knox gave them the
papers, saying simply, “ Whom can we trust now? ”
He despatched Hamilton at once to try to inter¬
cept Arnold at Verplanck’s Point, but it was too
late ; the boat had passed, and Arnold was safe on
board the Vulture. This done, Washington bade
his staff sit down with him to dinner, as the general
was absent, and Mrs. Arnold was ill in her room.
Dinner over, he immediately set about guarding the
post, which had been so near betrayal. To Colonel
Wade at West Point he wrote : “Arnold has gone
to the enemy ; you are in command, be vigilant.”
To Jameson he sent word to guard Andre closely.
To the colonels and commanders of various outlying
regiments he sent orders to bring up their troops.
Everything was done that should have been done,
quickly, quietly, and without comment. The most
sudden and appalling treachery had failed to shake
his nerve, or confuse his mind.
Yet the strong and silent man was wrung to the
quick, and when everything possible had been done,
and he had retired to his room, the guard outside the
door heard him marching back and forth through all
the weary night. The one thing he least expected,
because he least understood it, had come to pass.
He had been a good and true friend to the villain
who had fled, for Arnold’s reckless bravery and
dare-devil fighting had appealed to the strongest
passion of his nature, and he had stood by him
always. He had grieved over the refusal of Con¬
gress to promote him in due order, and had inter-
278
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
ceded with ultimate success in his behalf. He had
sympathized with him in his recent troubles in
Philadelphia, and had administered the reprimand
awarded by the court-martial so that rebuke
seemed turned to praise. He had sought to give
him every opportunity that a soldier could desire,
and had finally conferred upon him the command
of West Point. He had admired his courage and
palliated his misconduct, and now the scoundrel
had turned on him and fled. Mingled with the bit¬
terness of these memories of betrayed confidence
was the torturing ignorance of how far this base
treachery had extended. For all he knew there
might be a brood of traitors about him in the very
citadel of America. We can never know Wash¬
ington’s thoughts at that time, for he was ever
silent, but as we listen in imagination to the sound
of the even footfalls which the guard heard all
through that September night, we can dimly guess
the feelings of the strong and passionate nature,
wounded and distressed almost beyond endurance.
There is but little more to tell. The conspiracy
stopped with Arnold. He had no accomplices,
and meant to deliver the fort and pocket the boot}'’
alone. The British tried to spread the idea that
other officers had been corrupted, but the attempt
failed, and Washington’s prompt measures of de¬
fence checked any movement against the forts.
Every effort was made by Clinton to save Andre,
but in vain. He was tried by a court composed
of the highest officers in the American service.
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
279
among whom was Lafayette. On his own state¬
ment, but one decision was possible. He was con¬
demned as a spy, and as a spy he was sentenced
to be hanged. He made a manly appeal against
the manner of his death, and begged to be shot.
Washington declined to interfere, and Andr^ went
to the gallows.
The British, at the time, and some of their writers
afterwards, attacked Washington for insisting on
this mode of execution, but there never was an in¬
stance in his career when he was more entirely
right. Andr^ was a spy and briber, who sought to
ruin the American cause by means of the treachery
of an American general. It was a dark and dan¬
gerous game, and he knew that he staked his life
on the result. He failed, and paid the penalty.
Washington could not permit, he would have
been grossly and feebly culpable if he had per¬
mitted, such an attempt to pass without extreme
punishment. He was generous and magnanimous,
but he was not a sentimentalist, and he punished
this miserable treason, so far as he could reach it,
as it deserved. It is true that Andr^ was a man
of talent, well-bred and courageous, and of engag¬
ing manners. He deserved all the sympathy and
sorrow which he excited at the time, but nothing
more. He was not only technically a spy, but he
had sought his ends by bribery, he had prostituted
a flag of truce, and he was to be richly paid for
his work. It was all hire and salary. No doubt
Andr^ was patriotic and loyal. Many spies have
280
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
been the same, and have engaged in their danger¬
ous exploits from the highest motives. Nathan
Hale, whom the British hanged without compunc¬
tion, was as well-born and well-bred* as Andre, and
as patriotic as man could be, and moreover he was
a spy and nothing more. Andre was a trafficker in
bribes and treachery, and however we may pity his
fate, his name has no proper place in the great
temple at Westminster, where all English-speaking
people bow with reverence, and only a most per¬
verted sentimentality could conceive that it was
fitting to erect a monument to his memory in this
country.
Washington sent Andre to the gallows because
it was his duty to do so, but he pitied him none
the less, and whatever he may have thought of the
means Andr^ employed to effect his end, he made
no comment upon him, except to say that “ he met
his fate with that fortitude which was to be ex¬
pected from an accomplished man and gallant offi¬
cer.” As to Arnold, he was almost equally silent.
When obliged to refer to him he did so in the plain¬
est and simplest way, and only in a familiar letter
to Laurens do we get a glimpse of his feelings. He
wrote : “I am mistaken if at this time Arnold is
undergoing the torment of a mental hell. He
wants feeling. From some traits of his character
which have lately come to my knowledge, he seems
to have been so hackneyed in villainy, and so lost
to all sense of honor and shame, that, while his
faculties will enable him to continue his sordid
THE WAR IN TEE SOUTH.
281
pursuits, there will be no time for remorse.” With
this single expression of measureless contempt,
Washington let Arnold drop from his life. The
first shock had touched him to the quick, although
it could not shake his steady mind. Reflection
revealed to him the extraordinary baseness of Ar¬
nold’s real character, and he cast the thought of
him out forever, content to leave the traitor to the
tender mercies of history. The calmness and dig¬
nity, the firmness and deep feeling which Wash¬
ington exhibited, are of far more interest than the
abortive treason, and have as real a value now as
they had then, when suspicion for a moment ran
riot, and men wondered “ whom they could trust.”
The treason of Arnold swept like a black cloud
across the sky, broke, and left everything as before.
That such a base peril should have existed was
alarming and hateful. That it should have been
exploded harmlessly made all men give a deep
sigh of relief. But neither the treason nor its dis-.
covery altered the current of events one jot. The
summer had come and gone. The French had ar¬
rived, and no blow had been struck. There was
nothing to show for the campaign but inaction, dis¬
appointment, and the loss of the Carolinas. With
the commander-in-chief, through it all, were ever
present two great questions, getting more porten¬
tous and more difficult of solution with each suc¬
ceeding day. How he was to keep his army in ex¬
istence was one, and how he was to hold the gov¬
ernment together was the other. He had thirteen
282
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
tired States, a general government almost impotent,
a bankrupt treasury, and a broken credit. The
American Revolution had come down to the ques¬
tion of whether the brain, will, and nerve of one
man could keep the machine going long enough to
find fit opportunity for a final and decisive stroke.
Washington had confidence in the people of the
country and in himself, but the difficulties in the
way were huge, and the means of surmounting
them slight. There is here and there a passionate
undertone in the letters of this period, which shows
us the moments when the waves of trouble and dis¬
aster seemed to sweep over him. But the feeling
passed, or was trampled under foot, for there was
no break in the steady fight against untoward
circumstances, or in the grim refusal to accept
defeat.
It is almost impossible now to conceive the
actual condition at that time of every matter of
detail which makes military and political existence
possible. No general phrases can do justice to the
situation of the army ; and the petty miseries and
privations, which made life unendurable, went on
from day to day in ever varying forms. While
W ashington was hearing the first ill news from the
south and struggling with the problem on that side,
and at the same time was planning with Lafayette
how to take advantage of the French succors, the
means of subsisting his army were wholly giving
out. The men actually had no food. For days,
as Washington wrote, there was no meat at all in
TEE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
283
camp. Goaded by hunger, a Connecticut regiment
mutinied. They were brought back to duty, but
held out steadily for their pay, which they had not
received for five months. Indeed, the whole army
was more or less mutinous, and it was only by
the utmost tact that Washington kept them from
wholesale desertion. After the summer had passed
and the chance for a decisive campaign had gone
with it, the excitement of expected action ceased
to sustain the men, and the unclothed, unpaid, unfed
soldiers began again to get restive. We can im-
ao'ine what the condition of the rank and file must
O
have been when we find that Washington himself
could not procure an express from the quarter¬
master-general, and was obliged to send a letter to
the Minister of France by the unsafe and slow
medium of the post. He was expected to carry
on a war against a rich and powerful enemy, and
he could not even pay a courier to carry his dis¬
patches.
With the commander-in-chief thus straitened,
the sufferings of the men grew to be intoler¬
able, and the spirit of revolt which had been
checked through the summer began again to ap¬
pear. At last, in January, 1781, it burst all the
bounds. The Pennsylvania line mutinied and
threatened Congress. Attempts on the part of the
English to seduce them failed, but they remained
in a state of open rebellion. The officers were
powerless, and it looked as if the disaffection
would spread, and the whole army go to pieces in
284
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the very face of the enemy. Washington held
firm, and intended in his unshaken way to bring
them back to their duty without yielding in a dan¬
gerous fashion. But the government of Pennsyl¬
vania, at last thoroughly frightened, rushed into
the field, and patched up a compromise which con¬
tained most perilous concessions. The natural con¬
sequence was a fresh mutiny in the New Jersey
line, and this time Washington determined that he
would not be forestalled. He sent forward at once
some regiments of loyal troops, suppressed the mu¬
tiny suddenly and with a strong hand, and hanged
two of the ringleaders. The difficulty was con¬
quered, and discipline restored.
To take this course required great boldness, for
these mutinies were of no ordinary character. In
the first place, it was impossible to tell whether
any troops would do their duty against their fel¬
lows, and failure would have been fatal. In the
second place, the grievances of the soldiers were
very great, and their complaints were entirely
righteous. Washington felt the profoundest sym¬
pathy with his men, and it was no easy matter
to maintain order with soldiers tried almost be¬
yond endurance, against their comrades whose
claims were just. Two things saved the army.
One was Washington’s great influence with the
men and their utter belief in him. The other was
the quality of the men themselves. Lafayette said
they were the most patient and patriotic soldiers
the world had seen, and it is easy to believe him.
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
285
The wonder is, not that they mutinied when they
did, but that the whole army had not mutinied and
abandoned the struggle years before. The misfor¬
tunes and mistakes of the Revolution, to whom¬
ever due, were in no respect to be charged to the*
army, and the conduct of the troops through all
the dreary months of starvation and cold and pov¬
erty is a proof of the intelligent patriotism and
patient courage of the American soldier which can
never be gainsaid. To fight successful battles is
the test of a good general, but to hold together
a suffering army through years of unexampled
privations, to meet endless failure of details with
unending expedients, and then to fight battles and
plan campaigns, shows a leader who was far more
than a good general. Such multiplied trials and
difficulties are overcome only by a great soldier
who with small means achieves large results, and
by a great man who by force of will and charac¬
ter can establish with all who follow him a power
which no miseries can conquer, and no suffering
diminish.
The height reached by the troubles in the army
and their menacing character had, however, a good
as well as a bad side. They penetrated the indif¬
ference and carelessness of both Congress and the
States. Gentlemen in the confederate and local
administrations and legislatures woke up to a real¬
izing sense that the dissolution of the army meant
a general wreck, in which their own necks would
be in very considerable danger ; and they also had
286
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
an uneasy feeling that starving and mutinous sol¬
diers were very uncertain in taking revenge. The
condition of the army gave a sudden and pierc¬
ing reality to Washington’s indignant words to
Mathews on October 4th : “ At a time when public
harmony is so essential, when we should aid and
assist each other with all our abilities, when our
hearts should be open to information and our
hands ready to administer relief, to find distrusts
and jealousies taking possession of the mind and
a party spirit prevailing affords a most melancholy
reflection, and forebodes no good.” The hoarse
murmur of impending mutiny emphasized strongly
the words written on the same day to Duane ;
“ The history of the war is a history of false hopes
and temporary expedients. ■\Yould to God they
were to end here.”
The events in the south, too, had a sobering
effect. The congressional general Gates had not
proved a success. His defeat at Camden had been
terribly complete, and his flight had been too rapid
to inspire confidence in his capacity for recupera¬
tion. The members of Congress were thus led to
believe that as managers of military matters they
left much to be desired; and when Washington,
on October 11th, addressed to them one of his long
and admirable letters on reorganization, it was re¬
ceived in a very chastened spirit. They had lis¬
tened to many such letters before, and had benefited
by them always a little, but danger and defeat gave
this one peculiar point. They therefore accepted
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 287
tlie situation, and adopted all tlie suggestions of
the commander-in-chief. They also in the same
reasonable frame of mind determined that Wash¬
ington should select the next general for the south¬
ern army. A good deal could have been saved had
this decision been reached before ; but even now
it was not too late. October 14th, W^ashington
appointed Grreene to this post of difficulty and
danger, and Grreene s assumption of the command
marks the turning-point in the tide of disaster, and
the beginning of the ultimate expulsion of the
British from the only portion of the colonies where
they had made a tolerable campaign.
The uses of adversity, moreover, did not stop
here. They extended to the States, which began
to grow more vigorous in action, and to show signs
of appreciating the gravity of the situation and the
duties which rested upon them. This change and
improvement both in Congress and the States came
none too soon. Indeed, as it was, the results of
their renewed efforts were too slow to be felt at
once by the army, and mutinies broke out even
after the new spirit had shown itself. TV^ashington
also sent Knox to travel from State to State, to
see the various governors, and lay the situation of
affairs before them ; yet even with such a text it
was a difficult struggle to get the States to make
quick and strong exertions sufficient to prevent a
partial mutiny from becoming a general revolt.
The lesson, however, had had its effect. For the
moment, at least, the cause was saved. The worst
288
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
defects were temporarily remedied, and something
was done toward supplies and subsistence. The
army would be able to exist through another winter,
and face another summer. Then the next cam¬
paign might bring the decisive moment ; but still,
who could tell ? Years, instead of months, might
yet elapse before the end was reached, and then no
man could say what the result would be.
Washington saw plainly enough that the relief
and improvement were only temporary, and that
carelessness and indifference were likely to return,
and be more case-hardened than ever. He was too
strong and sane a man to waste time in fighting
shadows or in nourishing himself with hopes. He
dealt with the present as he found it, and fought
down difficulties as they sprang up in his path.
But he was also a man of extraordinary prescience,
with a foresight as penetrating as it was judicious.
It was, perhaps, his most remarkable gift, and while
he controlled the present he studied the future.
Outside of the operations of armies, and the plans
of campaign, he saw, as the war progressed, that
the really fatal perils were involved in the political
system. At the beginning of the Revolution there
was no organization outside the local state govern¬
ments. Congress voted and resolved in favor of
anything that seemed proper, and the States re¬
sponded to their appeal. In the first flush of revo¬
lution, and the first excitement of freedom, this was
all very well. But as the early passion cooled, and
a long and stubborn struggle, replete with suffer-
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
289
ings and defeat, developed itself, the want of sys¬
tem began to appear.
One of the earliest tasks of Congress was the
formation of articles for a general government, but
state jealousies, and the delays incident to the move¬
ments of thirteen sovereignties, prevented their
adoption until the war was nearly over. W^ashing-
ton, suffering from all the complicated troubles of
jarring States and general incoherence, longed for
and urged the adoption of the act of confederation.
He saw sooner than any one else, and with more
painful intensity, the need of better union and more
energetic government. -A.S the days and months of
difficulties and trials went by, the suggestions on
this question in his letters grew more frequent and
more urgent, and they showed the insight of the
statesman and practical man of affairs. How much
he hoped from the final acceptance of the act of
confederation it is not easy to say, but he hoped for
some improvement certainly. ^When at last it went
into force, he saw almost at once that it would not
do, and in the spring of 1780 he knew it to be
a miserable failure. The system which had been
established was really no better than that which
had preceded it. With alarm and disgust Wash¬
ington found himself flung back on what he called
“ the pernicious state system,” and with worse
prospects than ever.
Up to the time of the Revolution he had never
given attention to the philosophy or science of
government, but when it fell to his lot to fight
290
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the war for independence he perceived almost im¬
mediately the need of a strong central government,
and his suggestions, scattered broadcast among
his correspondents, manifested a knowledge of the
conditions of the political problem possessed by no
one else at that period. When he was satisfied
of the failure of the confederation, his efforts to
improve the existing administration multiplied,
and he soon had the assistance of his aide-de-camp,
Alexander Hamilton, who then wrote, although
little more than a boy, his remarkable letters
on government and finance, which were the first
full expositions of the political necessities from
which sprang the Constitution of the United States.
Washington was vigorous in action and methodi¬
cal in business, while the system of thirteen sov¬
ereignties was discordant, disorderly, and feeble in
execution. He knew that the vices inherent in the
confederation were ineradicable and fatal, and he
also knew that it was useless to expect any compre¬
hensive reforms until the war was over. The prob¬
lem before him was whether the existing machine
could be made to work until the British were finally
driven from the country. The winter of 1780-81
was marked, therefore, on his part, by an urgent
striving for union, and by unceasing efforts to mend
and improve the rickety system of the confedera¬
tion. It was with this view that he secured the
despatch of Laurens, whom he carefully instructed,
to get money in Paris ; for he was satisfied that it
was only possible to tide over the financial difficul-
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH.
291
ties by foreign loans from those interested in our
success. In the same spirit he worked to bring
about the establishment of executive departments,
which was finally accomplished, after delays that
sorely tried his patience. These two cases were but
the most important among many of similar charac¬
ter, for he was always at work on these perplexing
questions.
It is an astonishing proof of the strength and
power of his mind that he was able to solve the
daily questions of army existence, to deal with
the allies, to plan attacks on New York, to watch
and scheme for the southern department, to cope
with Arnold’s treason, with mutiny, and with ad¬
ministrative imbecility, and at the very same time
consider the gravest governmental problems, and
send forth wise suggestions, which met the exigen¬
cies of the moment, and laid the foundation of
much that afterwards appeared in the Constitution
of the United States. He was not a speculator on
government, and after his fashion he was engaged
in dealing with the questions of the day and hour.
Yet the ideas that he put forth in this time of con¬
fusion and conflict and expedients were so vitally
sound and wise that they deserve the most care¬
ful study in relation to after events. The polit¬
ical trials and difficulties of this period were the
stern teachers from whom Washington acquired
the knowledge and experience which made him the
principal agent in bringing about the formation and
adoption of the Constitution of the United States.
292
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
We shall have occasion to examine these opinions
and views more closely when they were afterwards
brought into actual play. At this point it is only
necessary to trace the history of the methods by
which he solved the problem of the Revolution
before the political system of the confederation
became absolutely useless.
CHAPTER X.
YORKTOWN.
The failure to accomplish anything in the north
caused Washington, as the year drew to a close,
to turn his thoughts once more toward a combined
movement at the south. In pursuance of this idea,
he devised a scheme of uniting with the Span¬
iards in the seizure of Florida, and of advancing
thence through Greorgia to assail the English in the
rear. De Rochambeau did not approve the plan
and it was abandoned ; but the idea of a southern
movement was still kept steadily in sight. The
governing thought now was, not to protect this
place or that, but to cast aside everything else
in order to strike one great blow which would fin¬
ish the war. Where he could do this, time alone
would show, but if one follows the correspondence
closely, it is apparent that Washington’s military
instinct turned more and more toward the south.
In that department affairs changed their aspect
rapidly. January ITth, Morgan won his brilliant
victory at the Cowpens, withdrew in good order
with his prisoners, and united his army with that of
Greene. Cornwallis was terribly disappointed by
this unexpected reverse, but he determined to push
on, defeat the combined American army, and then
294
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
join the British forces on the Chesapeake. Greene
was too weak to risk a battle, and made a masterly
retreat of two hundred miles before Cornwallis, es¬
caping across the Dan only twelve hours ahead of
the enemy. The moment the British moved away,
Greene recrossed the river and hung upon their
rear. For a month he kept in their neighborhood,
checking the rising of the Tories, and declining
battle. At last he received reinforcements, felt
strong enough to stand his ground, and on March
15th the battle of Guilford Court House was
fought. It was a sharp and bloody fight ; the
British had the advantage, and Greene abandoned
the field, bringing off his army in good order.
Cornwallis, on his part, had suffered so heavily,
however, that his victory turned to ashes. On the
18th he was in full retreat, with Greene in hot
chase, and it was not until the 28th that he suc¬
ceeded in getting over the Deep River and escap¬
ing to Wilmington. Thence he determined to push
on and transfer the seat of war to the Chesapeake.
Greene, with the boldness and quickness which
showed him to be a soldier of a high order, now
dropped the pursuit and turned back to fight the
British in detachments and free the southern States.
There is no need to follow him in the brilliant oper¬
ations which ensued, and by which he achieved
this result. It is sufficient to say here that he had
altered the whole aspect of the war, forced Corn¬
wallis into Virginia within reach of Washington,
and begun the work of redeeming the Carolinas.
YORKTOWN.
295
The troops which Cornwallis intended to join
had been sent in detachments to Virginia during
the winter and spring. The first body had arrived
early in January under the command of Arnold,
and a general marauding and ravaging took place.
A little later General Phillips arrived with rein¬
forcements and took command. On May 13th,
General Phillips died, and a week later Cornwallis
appeared at Petersburg, assumed control, and sent
Arnold back to New York.
Meantime Washington, though relieved by Mor-
o'an^s and Greeners admirable work, had a most
trying and unhappy winter and spring. He sent
every man he could spare, and more than he ought
to have spared, to Greene, and he stripped himself
still further when the invasion of Virginia began.
But for the most part he was obliged, from lack
of any naval strength, to stand helplessly by and
see more and more British troops sent to the south,
and witness the ravaging of his native State, with¬
out any ability to prevent it. To these grave trials
was added a small one, which stung him to the
quick. The British came up the Potomac, and
Lund Washington, in order to preserve Mount
Vernon, gave them refreshments, and treated them
in a conciliatory manner. He meant well but acted
ill, and Washington wrote :
It would have been a less painful circumstance
to me to have heard that, in consequence of your
non-compliance with their request, they had burnt
my house and laid the plantation in ruins. You
296
GEORGE WASniNGTON.
ought to have considered yourself as my repre¬
sentative, and should have reflected on the bad ex¬
ample of communicating with the enemy, and mak¬
ing a voluntary offer of refreshments to them, with
a view to prevent a conflagration.”
What a clear glimpse this little episode gives of
the earnestness of the man who wrote these lines.
He could not bear the thought that any favor should
be shown him on any pretence. He was ready to
take his share of the marauding and pillaging with
the rest, but he was deeply indignant at the idea
that any one representing him should even appear
to ask a favor of the British.
Altogether, the spring of 1781 was very trying,
for there was nothing so galling to Washington as
to be unable to fight. He wanted to get to the
south, but he was bound hand and foot by lack
of force. Yet the obstacles did not daunt or de¬
press him. He wrote in J une that he felt sure of
bringing the war to a happy conclusion, and in the
division of the British forces he saw his opportu¬
nity taking shape. Grreene had the southern forces
well in hand. Cornwallis was equally removed
from Clinton on the north and Rawdon on the
south, and had come within reach ; so that if he
could but have naval strength he could fall upon
Cornwallis with superior force and crush him. In
naval matters fortune thus far had dealt hardly
with him, yet he could not but feel that a French
fleet of sufficient force must soon come. He grasped
the situation with a master -hand, and began to
YORKTOWN,
297
prepare the way. Still he kept his counsel strictly
to himself, and set to work to threaten, and if pos¬
sible to attack. New York, not with much hope of
succeeding in any such attempt, but with a view of
frightening Clinton and of inducing him either to
withdraw troops from Virginia, or at least to with¬
hold reinforcements. As he began his Virginian
campaign in this distant and remote fashion at the
mouth of the Hudson, he was cheered by news
that De Grasse, the French admiral, had sent re¬
cruits to Newport, and intended to come himself to
the American coast. He at once wrote De Grasse
not to determine absolutely to come to New York,
hinting that it might prove more advisable to op¬
erate to the southward. It required gj?eat tact to
keep the French fleet where he needed it, and yet
not reveal his intentions, and nothing showed W ash-
ington’s foresight more plainly than the manner in
which he made the moves in this campaign, when
miles of space and weeks of time separated him
from the final object of his plans. To trace this
mastery of details, and the skill with which every
point was remembered and covered, would require
a long and minute narrative. They can only be
indicated here sufficiently to show how exactly
each movement fitted in its place, and how all to¬
gether brought the great result.
Fortified by the good news from De Grasse,
\Vashin2’ton had an interview with De Docham-
beau, and efiected a junction with the French
army. Thus strengthened, *he opened his cam-
298
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
paign against Cornwallis by beginning a move¬
ment against Clinton. The troops were massed
above the city, and an effort was made to surprise
the upper posts and destroy Delancey’s partisan
corps. The attempt, although well planned, failed
of its immediate purpose, giving Washington op¬
portunity only for an effective reconnoissance of
the enemy’s positions. But the move was perfectly
successful in its real and indirect object. Clinton
was alarmed. He began to write to Cornwallis
that troops should be returned to New York, and
he gave up absolutely the idea of sending more men
to Virginia. Having thus convinced Clinton that
New York was menaced, Washington then set to
work to familiarize skilfully the minds of his allies
and of Congress v/ith the idea of a southern cam¬
paign. With this end in view, he wrote on Au¬
gust 2d that, if more troops arrived from Virginia,
New York would be impracticable, and that the
next point was the south. The only contingency,
as he set forth, was the all-important one of obtain¬
ing naval su^^eriority. August 15th this essential
condition gave promise of fulfilment, for on that
day definite news arrived that De Grasse with his
fleet was on his way to the Chesapeake. Without
a moment’s hesitation, Washington began to move,
and at the same time he sent an urgent letter to the
New England governors, demanding troops with an
earnestness which he had never surpassed.
In Virginia, meanwhile, during these long mid¬
summer days, while Washington was waiting and
YORKTOWN.
299
planning, Cornwallis Lad been going up and down,
harrying, burning, and plundering. His cavalry
had scattered the legislature, and driven Governor
Jefferson in headlong flight over the hills, while
property to the value of more than three millions
had been destroyed. Lafayette, sent by Washing¬
ton to maintain the American cause, had been too
weak to act decisively, but he had been true to his
general’s teaching, and, refusing battle, had hung
upon the flanks of the British and harassed and
checked them. Joined by W^ayne, he had fought
an unsuccessful engagement at Green Springs, but
brought off his army, and with steady pertinacity
followed the enemy to the coast, gathering strength
as he moved. Now, when all was at last ready,
W^ashington began to draw his net about Corn¬
wallis, whom he had been keenly watching during
the victorious marauding of the summer. On the
news of the coming of the French fleet, he wrote
to Lafayette to be prepared to join him when he
reached Virginia, to retain W ayne, who intended to
join Greene, and to stop Cornwallis at all hazards,
if he attempted to go southward.
Cornwallis, however, had no intention of moving.
He had seen the peril of his position, and had
wished to withdraw to Charleston ; but the minis¬
try, highly pleased with his performances, wished
him to remain on the Chesapeake, and decisive
orders came to him to take a permanent post
in that region. Clinton, moreover, was jealous of
Cornwallis, and, impressed and deceived by Wash-
800
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
ington’s movements, he not only sent no reinforce¬
ments, but detained three thousand Hessians, who
had lately arrived. Cornwallis, therefore, had no
choice, and with much writing for aid, and some
protesting, he obeyed his orders, planted himself at
Yorktown and Gloucester, and proceeded to fortify,
while Lafayette kept close watch upon him. Corn¬
wallis was a good soldier and a clever man, suf¬
fering, as Burgoyne did, from a stupid ministry
and a dull and jealous commander-in-chief. Thus
hampered and burdened, he was ready to fall a
victim to the operations of a really great general,
whom his official superiors in England undervalued
and despised.
August 17th, as soon as he had set his own ma¬
chinery in motion, Washington wrote to De Grasse
to meet him in the Chesapeake. He was working
now more anxiously and earnestly than at any
time in the Bevolution, not merely because he felt
that success depended on the blow, but because he
descried a new and alarming danger. He had
perceived it in June, and the idea pursued him
until all was over, and kept recurring in his letters
during this strained and eager summer. To Wash¬
ington’s eyes, watching campaigns and government
at home and the politics of Europe abroad, the
signs of exhaustion, of mediation, and of coming
peace across the Atlantic were plainly visible. If
peace should come as things then were, America
would get independence, and be shorn of many
of her most valuable possessions. The sprawling
YORKTO WN.
301
i
British campaign o£ maraud and plunder, so bad
in a military point of view, and about to prove fa¬
tal to Cornwallis, would, in case of sudden cessation
of hostilities, be capable of the worst construction.
Time, therefore, had become of the last importance.
The decisive blow must be given at once, and
before the slow political movements could come to
a head. On July 14th, Washington had his plan
mapped out. He wrote in his diary :
“ Matters having now come to a crisis, and a
decided plan to be determined on, I was obliged —
from the shortness of Count He Grasse’s promised
stay on this coast, the apparent disinclination of
their naval officers to force the harbor of New
York, and the feeble compliance of the States with
my requisitions for men hitherto, and the little
prospect of greater exertions in future — to give
up all ideas of attacking New York, and instead
thereof to remove the French troops and a detach¬
ment from the American army to the Head of Elk,
to be transported to Virginia for the purpose of
cooperating with the force from the W est Indies
against the troops in that State.”
Like most of Washington’s plans, this one was
clear-cut and direct, and looks .now simple enough,
but at the moment it was hedged with almost incon¬
ceivable difficulties at every step. The ever-present
and ever-growing obstacles at home were there as
usual. Appeals to Morris for money were met
by the most discouraging responses, and the States
seemed more lethargic than ever. Neither men nor
i
302
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
supplies could be obtained ; neither transportation
nor provision for the march could be promised.
Then, too, in addition to all this, came a wholly
new set of stumbling-blocks arising among the
allies. Everything hinged on the naval force.
W ashington needed it for a short time only ; but
for that crucial moment he must have not only
superiority but supremacy at sea. Every French
ship that could be reached must be in the Chesa¬
peake, and Washington had had too many French
fleets slip away from him at the last moment and
bring everything to naught to take any chances
in this direction. To bring about his naval su¬
premacy required the utmost tact and good man¬
agement, and that he succeeded is one of the chief
triumphs of the campaign. In fact, at the very out¬
set he was threatened in this quarter with a serious
defection. De Barras, with the American squad¬
ron, was at Boston, and it was essential that he
should be united with De Grasse at Yorktown.
But De Barras was nettled by the favoritism which
had made De Grasse, his junior in service, his
superior in command. He determined therefore to
take advantage of his orders and sail away to the
north to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, and leave
De Grasse to fight it out alone. It is a hard thing
to beat an opposing army, but it is equally hard
to bring human jealousies and ambitions into the
narrow path of self-sacrifice and subordination.
Alarmed beyond measure at the suggested depart¬
ure of the Boston squadron, Washington wrote a
YORKTOWN.
303
letter, wliicli De Rochambeau signed with him, urg¬
ing De Barras to turn his fleet toward the Chesa¬
peake. It was a skilfully drawn missive, an adroit
mingling of appeals to honor and sympathy and of
vigorous demands to perform an obvious duty. The
letter did its w^ork, the diplomacy of Washington
was successful, and De Barras suppressed his feel¬
ings of disappointment, and agreed to go to the
Chesapeake and serve under De Grasse.
This point made, Washington pushed on his
preparations, or rather pushed on despite his lack
of preparations, and on August 17th, as has been
said, wrote to De Grasse to meet him in the Chesa¬
peake. He left the larger part of his own troops
with Heath, to whom in carefully drawn instructions
he entrusted the grave duty of guarding the Hud¬
son and watching the British in New York. This
done, he gathered his forces together, and on
August 21st the army started on its march to the
south. On the 23d and 24th it crossed the Hud¬
son, without annoyance from the British of any
kind. Washington had threatened New York so
effectively, and manoeuvred so successfully, that
Clinton could not be shaken in his belief that the
real object of the Americans was his own army ;
and it was not until September 2d that he real¬
ized that his enemy was going to the south, and
that Cornwallis was in danger. He even then hesi¬
tated and delayed, but finally dispatched Admiral
Graves with the fleet to the Chesapeake. The
Admiral came upon the French early on Septem-
304
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
ber 5tb, the very day that Wasbington was rejoic¬
ing in the news that De Grasse bad arrived in the
Chesapeake and had landed St. Simon and three
thousand men to support Lafayette. As soon as
the English fleet appeared, the French, although
many of their men were on shore, sailed out and
gave battle. An indecisive action ensued, in which
the British suffered so much that flve days later
they burned one of their frigates and withdrew to
New York. De Grasse returned to his anchorage,
to find that De Barras had come in from Newport
with eight ships and ten transports carrying ord¬
nance.
While everything was thus moving well toward
the consummation of the campaign, Washington,
in the midst of his delicate and important work of
breaking camp and beginning his rapid march to
the south, was harassed by the ever-recurring difii-
culties of the feeble and bankrupt government of
the confederation. He wrote again and again to
Morris for money, and Anally got some. His de¬
mands for men and supplies remained almost un¬
heeded, but somehow he got provisions enough to
start. He foresaw the most pressing need, and
sent messages in all directions for shipping to
transport his army down the Chesapeake. No one
responded, but still he gathered the transports ; at
first a few, then more, and finally, after many de¬
lays, enough to move his army to Xorktown. The
spectacle of such a struggle, so heroically made, one
would think, might have inspired every soul on
YORKTO WN,
305
the continent with enthusiasm ; hut at this very
moment, while Washington was breaking camp and
marching southward, Congress was considering the
reduction of the army ! — which was as appropriate
as it would have been for the English Parliament
to have reduced the navy on the eve of Trafalgar,
or for Lincoln to have advised the restoration of
the army to a peace footing while Grant was fight¬
ing in the Wilderness. The fact was that the
Continental Congress was weakened in ability and
very tired in point of nerve and will-power. They
saw that peace was coming, and naturally thought
that the sooner they could get it the better. They
entirely failed to see, as Washington saw, that in
a too sudden peace lurked the danger of the uti
possidetis^ and that the mere fact of peace by no
means implied necessarily complete success. They
did not, of course, effect their reductions, but they
remained inert, and so for the most part did the
state governments, becoming drags upon the wheels
of war instead of helpers to the man who was driv¬
ing the P evolution forward to its goal. Both state
and confederate governments still meant well, but
they were worn out and relaxed. Yet over and
through all these heavy masses of misapprehension
and feebleness, Washington made his way. Here
again all that can be said is that somehow or other
the thing was done. AYe can take account of the
resisting forces, but we cannot tell jnst how they
were dealt with. We only know that one strong
man trampled them down and got what he wanted
done.
306
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Pushing on after the joyful news of the arrival
of De Grasse had been received, Washington left
the army to go by water from the Head of Elk,
and hurried to Mount Vernon, accompanied by De
Rochambeau. It was six years since he had seen
his home. He had left it a Virginian colonel, full
of forebodings for his country, with a vast and
unknown problem awaiting solution at his hands.
He returned to it the first soldier of his day, after
six years of battle and trial, of victory and defeat,
on the eve of the last and crowning triumph. As
he paused on the well-beloved spot, and gazed
across the broad and beautiful river at his feet,
thoughts and remembrances must have come
thronging to his mind which it is given to few
men to know. He lingered there two days, and
then pressing on again, was in Williamsburg on the
14th, and on the 17th went on board the Ville de
Paris to congratulate De Grasse on his victory, and
to concert measures for the siege.
The meeting was most agreeable. All had gone
well, all promised well, and everything was smiling
and harmonious. Yet they were on the eve of
the greatest peril which occurred in the campaign.
W ashington had managed to scrape together enough
transports ; but his almost unassisted labors had
taken time, and delay had followed. Then the
transports were slow, and winds and tides were
uncertain, and there was further delay. The inter¬
val permitted De Grasse to hear that the British
fleet had received reinforcements, and to become
YORK TOWN.
307
nervous in consequence. He wanted to get out to
sea; the season was advancing, and he was anxious
to return to the est Indies ; and above all he did
not wish to fight in the bay. He therefore pro¬
posed firmly and vigorously to leave two ships in
the river, and stand out to sea with his fleet. The
Yorktown campaign began to look as if it had
reached its conclusion. Once again Washington
wrote one of his masterly letters of expostulation
and remonstrance, and once more he prevailed,
aided by the reasoning and appeals of Lafayette,
who carried the message. He Grasse consented to
stay, and Washington, grateful beyond measure,
wrote him that “ a great mind knows how to make
personal sacrifice to secure an important general
good.” Under the circumstances, and in view of
the general truth of this complimentary sentiment,
one cannot help rejoicing that He Grasse had “ a
great mind.”
At all events he stayed, and thereafter every¬
thing went well. The northern army landed at Wil¬
liamsburg and marched for Yorktown on the 28th.
They reconnoitred the outlying works the next day,
and prepared for an immediate assault ; but in
the night Cornwallis abandoned all his outside
works and withdrew into the town. Washington
thereupon advanced at once, and prepared for the
siege. On the night of the 5th, the trenches were
opened only six hundred yards from the enemy’s
line, and in three days the first parallel was com¬
pleted. On the 11th the second parallel was be-
808
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
gun, and on tlie 14tli the American batteries
played on the two advanced redoubts with such
effect that the breaches were pronounced practica¬
ble. W ashington at once ordered an assault. The
smaller redoubt was stormed by the Americans
under Hamilton and taken in ten minutes. The
other, larger and more strongly garrisoned, was car¬
ried by the French with equal gallantry, after half
an hour’s fighting. During the assault Washing¬
ton stood in an embrasure of the grand battery,
watching the advance of the men. He was always
given to exposing himself recklessly when there
was fighting to be done, but not when he was
only an observer. This night, however, he was
much exposed to the enemy’s fire. One of his
aides, anxious and disturbed for his safety, told him
that the place was perilous. “ If you think so,”
was the quiet answer, “ you are at liberty to step
back.” The moment was too exciting, too fraught
with meaning, to think of peril. The old fighting
spirit of Braddock’s field was unchained for the
last time. He would have liked to head the Amer¬
ican assault, sword in hand, and as he could not
do that he stood as near his troops as he could,
utterly regardless of the bullets whistling in the
air about him. Who can wonder at his intense
excitement at that moment ? Others saw a brilliant
storming of two outworks, but to Washington the
whole Devolution, and all the labor and thought
and conflict of six years were culminating in the
smoke and din on those redoubts, while out of the
YORKTO WN.
309
dust and heat of the sharp quick fight success was
coming. He had waited long, and worked hard,
and his whole soul went out as he watched the
troops cross the abattis and scale the works. He
could have no thought of danger then, and when
all was over he turned to Knox and said, “ The
work is done, and well done. Bring me my horse.”
Washington was not mistaken. The work was
indeed done. Tarleton early in the siege had
dashed out against Lauzun on the other side of
the river and been repulsed. Cornwallis had been
forced back steadily into the town, and his redoubts,
as soon as taken, were included in the second par¬
allel. A sortie to retake the redoubts failed, and a
wild attempt to transport the army across the river
was stopped by a gale of wind. On the 17th Corn¬
wallis was compelled to face much bloody and use¬
less slaughter, or to surrender. He chose the latter
course, and after opening negotiations and trying in
vain to obtain delay, finally signed the capitulation
and gave up the town. The next day the troops
marched out and laid down their arms. Over 7000
British and Hessian troops surrendered. It was a
crushing defeat. The victorious army consisted in
round numbers of 5500 continentals, 3500 militia,
and 7000 French, and they were backed by the
French fleet with entire control of the sea.
When Washington had once reached Yorktown
with his fleet and army, the campaign was really at
an end, for he held Cornwallis in an iron grip from
which there was no escape. The masterly part of
310
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
the Yorktown campaign lay in the manner in which
it was brought about, in the management of so
many elements, and in the rapidity of movement
which carried an army without any proper supplies
or means of transportation from New York to the
mouth of Chesapeake Bay. The control of the
sea had been the great advantage of the British
from the beginning, and had enabled them to
achieve all that they ever gained. With these odds
against him, with no possibility of obtaining a fleet
of his own, Washington saw that his only chance
of bringing the war to a quick and successful issue
was by means of the French. It is difficult to
manage allied troops. It is still more difficult to
manage allied troops and an allied fleet. Wash¬
ington did both with infinite address, and won.
The chief factor of his success in this direction lay
in his profound personal influence on all men with
whom he came in contact. His courtesy and tact
were perfect, but he made no concessions, and
never stooped. The proudest French noble who
came here shrank from disagreement with the
American general, and yet not one of them had
anything but admiration and respect to express
when they wrote of Washington in their memoirs,
diaries, and letters. He impressed them one and
all with a sense of power and greatness which
could not be disregarded. Many times he failed
to get the French fleet in cooperation, but finally
it came. Then he put forth all his influence and
all his address, and thus he got De Barras to the
Chesapeake, and kept De Grasse at Yorktown.
YORKTO WN.
311
This was one side of the problem, the most es¬
sential because everything hinged on the fleet, but
by no means the most harassing. The doubt about
the control of the sea made it impossible to work
steadily for a sufficient time toward any one end. It
was necessary to have a plan for every contingency,
and be ready to adopt any one of several plans at
short notice. With a foresight and judgment that
never failed, Washington planned an attack on
New York, another on Yorktown, and a third on
Charleston. The division of the British forces gave
him his opportunity of striking at one point with an
overwhelming force, but there was always the possi¬
bility of their suddenly reuniting. In the extreme
south he felt reasonably sure that Greene would
hold Bawdon, but he was obliged to deceive and
amuse Clinton, and at the same time, with a ridic¬
ulously inferior force, to keep Cornwallis from
inarching to South Carolina. Partly by good for¬
tune, partly by skill, Cornwallis w^as kept in Vir¬
ginia, while by admirably managed feints and
threats Clinton was held in New York in inactivity.
When the decisive moment came, and it was evident
that the control of the sea was to be determined in
the Chesapeake, Washington, overriding all sorts
of obstacles, moved forward, despite a bankrupt
and inert government, with a rapidity and daring
which have been rarely equalled. It was a bold
stroke to leave Clinton behind at the mouth of the
Hudson, and only the quickness with which it was
done, and the careful deception which had been
312
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
practised, made it possible. Once at Yorktown,
there was little more to do. The combination was
so perfect, and the judgment had been so sure, that
Cornwallis was crushed as helplessly as if he had
been thrown before the car of Juggernaut. There
was really but little fighting, for there was no op¬
portunity to fight. lYashington held the British
in a vice, and the utter helplessness of Cornwallis,
the entire inability of such a good and gallant
soldier even to struggle, are the most convincing
proofs of the military genius of his antagonist.
CHAPTER XI.
PEACE.
Foktitude in misfortune is more common tlian
composure in the hour of victory. The bitter med¬
icine of defeat, however unpalatable, is usually ex¬
tremely sobering, but the strong new wine of success
generally sets the heads of poor humanity spinning,
and leads often to worse results than folly. The
capture of Cornwallis was enough to have turned the
strongest head, for the moment at least, but it had
no apparent effect upon the man who had brought
it to pass, and who, more than any one else, knew
what it meant. Unshaken and undismayed in the
New Jersey winter, and among the complicated
miseries of Valley Forge, Washington turned from
the spectacle of a powerful British army laying
down their arms as coolly as if he had merely
fought a successful skirmish, or repelled a danger¬
ous raid. He had that rare gift, the attribute of
the strongest minds, of leaving the past to take
care of itself. He never fretted over what could
not be undone, nor dallied among pleasant memo¬
ries while aught still remained to do. He wrote to
Congress in words of quiet congratulation, through
which pierced the devout and solemn sense of the
314
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
great deed accomplished, and then, while the salvos
of artillery were still booming in his ears, and the
shouts of victory were still rising about him, he set
himself, after his fashion, to care for the future
and provide for the immediate completion of his
work.
He wrote to De Grasse, urging him to join in an
immediate movement against Charleston, such as
he had already suggested, and he presented in the
strongest terms the opportunities now offered for
the sudden and complete ending of the struggle.
But the French admiral was by no means imbued
with the tireless and determined spirit of Wash¬
ington. He had had his fill even of victory, and
was so eager to get back to the West Indies, where
he was to fall a victim to Rodney, that he would
not even transport troops to Wilmington. Thus
deprived of the force which alone made compre¬
hensive and extended movements possible, Wash¬
ington returned, as he had done so often before, to
making the best of cramped circumstances and
straitened means. He sent all the troops he could
spare to Greene, to help him in wresting the south¬
ern States from the enemy, the work to which he
had in vain summoned De Grasse. This done, he
prepared to go north. On his way he was stopped
at Eltham by the illness and death of his wife’s
son, John Custis, a blow which he felt severely,
and which saddened the great victory he had just
achieved. Still the business of the state could
not wait on private grief. He left the house of
PEACE.
315
mourning, and, pausing for an instant only at
Mount Vernon, hastened on to Philadelphia. At
the very moment of victory, and while honorable
members were shaking each other’s hands and con¬
gratulating each other that the war was now really
over, the commander-in-chief had fallen again to
writing them letters in the old strain, and was once
more urging them to keep up the army, while he
himself gave his personal attention to securing
a naval force for the ensuing year, through the
medium of Lafayette. Nothing was ever finished
with Washington until it was really complete
throughout, and he had as little time for rejoicing
as he had for despondency or despair, while a Brit¬
ish force still remained in the country. He prob¬
ably felt that this was as untoward a time as he
had ever met in a pretty large experience of un¬
suitable occasions, for offering sound advice, but
he was not deterred thereby from doing it. This
time, however, he was destined to an agreeable
disappointment, for on his arrival at Philadelphia
he found an excellent spirit prevailing in Congress.
That body was acting cheerfully on his advice, it
had filled the departments of the government, and
set on foot such measures as it could to keep up the
army. So W ashington remained for some time at
Philadelphia, helping and counselling Congress in
its work, and writing to the States vigorous letters,
demanding pay and clothing for the soldiers, ever
uppermost in his thoughts.
But although Congress was compliant. Washing-
316
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
ton could not convince tlie country of the justice of
his views, and of the continued need of energetic
exertion. The steady relaxation of tone, which
the strain of a long and trying war had produced,
was accelerated by the brilliant victory of York-
town. Washington for his own part had but little
trust in the sense or the knowledge of his enemy.
He felt that Yorktown was decisive, but he also
thought that Great Britain would still struggle on,
and that her talk of peace was very probably a
mere blind, to enable her to gain time, and, by
taking advantage of our relaxed and feeble condi¬
tion, to strike again in hope of winning back all
that had been lost. He therefore continued his
appeals in behalf of the army, and reiterated every¬
where the necessity for fresh and ample prepara¬
tions.
As late as May 4th he wrote sharply to the States
for men and money, saying that the change of min¬
istry was likely to be adverse to peace, and that we
were being lulled into a false and fatal sense of
security. A few days later, on receiving informa¬
tion from Sir Guy Carleton of the address of the
Commons to the king for peace, Washington wrote
to Congress : “ For my own part, I view our situa¬
tion as such that, instead of relaxing, we ought to
improve the present moment as the most favorable
to our wishes. The British nation appear to me to
be staggered, and almost ready to sink beneath the
accumulating weight of debt and misfortune. If
we follow the blow with vigor and energy, I think
the game is our own.”
PEACE.
317
Again he wrote in July: “ Sir Guy Carleton is
using every art to soothe and lull our people into
a state of security. Admiral Digby is capturing
all our vessels, and suffocating as fast as possible
in prison-ships all our seamen who will not enlist
into the service of his Britannic Majesty ; and
Haldimand, with his savage allies, is scalping and
burning on the frontiers.” Facts always were the
object of Washington’s first regard, and while
gentlemen on all sides were talking of peace, war
was going on, and he could not understand the
supineness which would permit our seamen to be
suffocated, and our borderers scalped, because some
people thought the war ought to be and practically
was over. While the other side was fighting, he
wished to be fighting too. A month later he wrote
to Greene : “ From the former infatuation, duplic¬
ity, and perverse system of British policy, I confess
I am induced to doubt everything, to suspect every¬
thing.” He could say heartily with the Trojan
priest, “ Quicquid id est timeo Hanaos et dona fe-
rentes.” Yet again, a inonth later still, when the
negotiations were really going forward in Paris, he
wrote to McHenry : “ If we are wise, let us pre¬
pare for the worst. There is nothing which will
so soon produce a speedy and honorable peace as ar
state of preparation for war ; and we must either
do this, or lay our account to patch up an inglori¬
ous peace, after all the toil, blood, and treasure we
have spent.”
No man had done and given so much as Wash-
318
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
ington, and at tlie same time no other man had his
love of thoroughness, and his indomitable fighting
temper. He found few sympathizers, his words fell
upon deaf ears, and he was left to struggle on and
maintain his ground as best he might, without any
substantial backing. As it turned out, England
was more severely wounded than he dared to hope,
and her desire for peace was real. But Washing¬
ton’s distrust and the active policy which he urged
were, in the conditions of the moment, perfectly
sound, both in a military and a political point of
view. It made no real difference, however, whether
he was right or wrong in his opinion. He could
not get what he wanted, and he was obliged to drag
through another year, fettered in his military move¬
ments, and oppressed with anxiety for the future.
He longed to drive the British from New York,
and was forced to content himself, as so often be¬
fore, with keeping his army in existence. It was a
trying time, and fruitful in nothing but anxious
forebodings. All the fighting was confined to skir¬
mishes of outposts, and his days were consumed in
vain efforts to obtain help from the States, while he
watched with painful eagerness the current of events
in Europe, down which the fortunes of his country
were feebly drifting.
Among the petty incidents of the year there was
one which, in its effects, gained an international
importance, which has left a deep stain upon the
English arms, and which touched Washington
deeply. Captain Huddy, an American officer, was
PEACE.
319
captured in a skirmish and carried to New York,
where he was placed in confinement. Thence he
was taken on April 12th by a party of Tories in
the British service, commanded by Captain Lippin-
cott, and hanged in the broad light of day on the
heights near Middletown. Testimony and affidavits
to the fact, which was never questioned, were duly
gathered and laid before Washington. The deed
was one of wanton barbarity, for which it would be
difficult to find a parallel in the annals of modern
warfare. The authors of this brutal murder, to
our shame be it said, were of American birth, but
they were fighting for the crown and wore the Brit¬
ish uniform. England, which for generations has
deafened the world with paeans of praise for her
own love of fair play and for her generous human¬
ity, stepped in here and threw the mantle of her
protection over these cowardly hangmen. It has
not been uncommon for wild North American sav¬
ages to deliver up criminals to the vengeance of the
law, but English ministers and officers condoned
the murder of Huddy, and sheltered his murderers.
When the case was laid before Washington it
stirred him to the deepest wrath. He submitted
the facts to twenty-five of his general officers, who
unanimously advised what he was himself deter¬
mined upon, instant retaliation. He wrote at once
to Sir Guy Carleton, and informed him that unless
the murderers were given up he should be compelled
to retaliate. Carleton replied that a court-martial
was ordered, and some attempt was made to recrim-
320
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
inate ; but Washington pressed on in the path he
had marked out, and had an English officer selected
by lot and held in close confinement to await the
action of the enemy. These sharp measures brought
the British, as nothing else could have done, to some
sense of the enormity of the crime that had been
committed. Sir Guy Carleton wrote in remon¬
strance, and Washington replied: “Ever since the
commencement of this unnatural war my conduct
has borne invariable testimony against those inhu¬
man excesses, which, in too many instances, have
marked its progress. With respect to a late trans¬
action, to which I presume your excellency alludes,
I have already expressed my resolution, a resolution
formed on the most mature deliberation, and from
which I shall not recede.” The affair dragged
along, purposely protracted by the British, and the
court-martial on a technical point acquitted Lippin-
cott. Sir Guy Carleton, however, who really was
deeply indignant at the outrage, wrote, expressing
his abhorrence, disavowed Lippincott, and promised
a further inquiry. This placed Washington in a
very trying position, more especially as his human¬
ity was touched by the situation of the unlucky
hostage. The fatal lot had fallen upon a mere boy.
Captain Asgill, who was both amiable and popular,
and Washington was beset with appeals in his be¬
half, for Lady Asgill moved heaven and earth to
save her son. She interested the French court,
and Yergennes made a special request that Asgill
should be released. Even Washinsfton’s own offi-
PEA CE.
321
cers, notably Hamilton, sought to influence him,
and begged him to recede. In these difficult cir¬
cumstances he hesitated, and asked instructions
from Congress. He wrote to Duane in September :
“ While retaliation was apparently necessary, how¬
ever disagreeable in itself, I had no repugnance to
the measure. But when the end proposed by it is
answered by a disavowal of the act, by a dissolution
of the board of refugees, and by a promise (whether
with or without meaning to comply with it, I shall
not determine) that further inquisition should be
made into the matter, I thought it incumbent upon
me, before I proceeded any farther in the matter, to
have the sense of Congress, who had most ex]3licitly
approved and impliedly indeed ordered retaliation
to take place. To this hour I am held in dark¬
ness.”
He did not long remain in doubt. The fact was
that the public, as is commonly the case, had for¬
gotten the original crime and saw only the misery
of the man who was to pay the just penalty, and
who was, in this instance, an innocent and vicari¬
ous sufferer. It was difficult to refuse Vergennes,
and Congress, glad of the excuse and anxious to
oblisre their allies, ordered the release of Asgill.
That Washington, touched by the unhappy condi¬
tion of his prisoner, did not feel relieved by the
result, it would be absurd to suppose. But he was
by no means satisfied, for the murderous wrong that
had been done rankled in his breast. He wrote to
Vergennes : “ Captain Asgill has been released, and
322
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
is at perfect liberty to return to the arms of an
affectionate parent, whose pathetic address to your
Excellency could not fail of interesting every feel¬
ing heart in her behalf. I have no right to assume
any particular merit from the lenient manner in
which this disagreeable affair has terminated.”
There is a perfect honesty about this which is
very wholesome. He had been freely charged with
cruelty, and had regarded the accusation with in¬
difference. Now, when it was easy for him to have
taken the glory of mercy by simply keeping silent,
he took pains to avow that the leniency was not
due to him. He was not satisfied, and no one
should believe that he was, even if the admission
seemed to justify the charge of cruelty. If he erred
at all it was in not executing some British officer at
the very start, unless Lippincott had been given up
within a limited time. As it was, after delay was
once permitted, it is hard to see how he could have
acted otherwise than he did, but Washington was
not in the habit of receding from a fixed purpose,
and being obliged to do so in this case troubled
him, for he knew that he did well to be angry.
But the frankness of the avowal to Yergennes is a
good example of his entire honesty and absolute
moral fearlessness.
The matter, however, which most filled his heart
and mind during these weary days of waiting and
doubt was the condition and the future of his soldiers.
To those persons who have suspected or suggested
that Washino-ton was cold-blooded and unmindful of
PEACE.
323
others, the letters he wrote in regard to the soldiers
may be commended. The man whose heart was
wrung by the sufferings o£ the poor people on the
Virginian frontier, in the days of the old French
war, never in fact changed his nature. Fierce
in fight, passionate and hot when his anger was
stirred, his love and sympathy were keen and
strong toward his army. His heart went out to
the brave men who had followed him, loved him,
and never swerved in their loyalty to him and to
their country. Washington’s affection for his men,
and their devotion to him, had saved the cause of
American independence more often than strategy
or daring. Now, when the war was practically
over, his influence with both officers and soldiers
was destined to be put to its severest tests.
The people of the American colonies were self-
governing in the extremest sense, that is, they were
accustomed to very little government interference of
any sort. They were also poor and entirely unused
to war. Suddenly they found themselves plunged
into a bitter and protracted conflict with the most
powerful of civilized nations. In the first flush of
excitement, patriotic enthusiasm supplied many de¬
fects ; but as time wore on, and year after year
passed, and the whole social and political fabric was
shaken, the moral tone of the people relaxed. In
such a struggle, coming upon an unprepared people
of the habits and in the circumstances of the colo¬
nists, this relaxation was inevitable. It was like¬
wise inevitable that, as the war continued, there
324
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
should be in both national and state governments,
and in all directions, many shortcomings and many
lamentable errors. But for the treatment accorded
the army, no such excuse can be made, and no suf¬
ficient explanation can be offered. There was
throughout the colonies an inborn and a carefully
cultivated dread of standing armies and military
power. But this very natural feeling was turned
most unreasonably against our own army, and car¬
ried in that direction to the verge of insanity.
This jealousy of military power indeed pursued
Washington from the beginning to the end of the
Be volution. It cropped out as soon as he was
appointed, and came up in one form or another
whenever he was obliged to take strong measures.
Even at the very end, after he had borne the cause
through to triumph. Congress was driven almost to
frenzy because Yergennes proposed to commit the
disposition of a French subsidy to the commander-
in-chief.
If this feeling could show itself toward Wash¬
ington, it is easy to imagine that it was not re- *
strained toward his officers and men, and the treat¬
ment of the soldiers by Congress and by the States
was not only ungrateful to the last degree, but
was utterly unpardonable. Again and again the
menace of immediate ruin and the stern demands
of Washington alone extorted the most grudging
concessions, and saved the army from dissolution.
The soldiers had every reason to think that noth¬
ing but personal fear could obtain the barest con-
PEACE.
325
sideration from the civil power. In this frame of
mind, they saw the war which they had fought
and won drawing to a close with no prospect of
either provision or reward for them, and every
indication that they would he disbanded when they
were no longer needed, and left in many cases to
beggary and want. In the inaction consequent
upon the victory at Yorktown, they had ample
time to reflect upon these facts, and their reflec¬
tions were of such a nature that the situation soon
became dangerous. Washington, who had strug¬
gled in season and out of season for justice to the
soldiers, labored more zealously than ever during
all this period, aided vigorously by Hamilton, who
was now in Congress. Still nothing was done, and
in October, 1782, he wrote to the Secretary of War
in words warm with indignant feeling : “ While
I premise that no one I have seen or heard of ap¬
pears opposed to the princij)le of reducing the army
as circumstances may require, yet I cannot help
fearing the result of the measure in contemplation,
. under present circumstances, when I see such a num¬
ber of men, goaded by a thousand stings of reflec¬
tion on the past and of anticipation on the future,
about to be turned into the world, soured by pen¬
ury and what they call the ingratitude of the pub¬
lic, involved in debts, without one farthing of money
to carry them home after having spent the flower
of their days, and many of them their patrimonies,
in establishing the freedom and independence of
their country, and suffered everything that human
326
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
nature is capable of enduring on this side of death.
. . .You may rely upon it, the patriotism and long-
suftering of this army are almost exhausted, and
that there never was so great a spirit of discontent
as at this instant. While in the field I think it
may be kept from breaking into acts of outrage ;
but when we retire into winter-quarters, unless the
storm is previously dissipated, I cannot be at ease
respecting the consequences. It is high time for a
peace.”
These were grave words, coming from such a
man as Washington, but they passed unheeded.
Congress and the States went blandly along as
if everything was all right, and as if the army
had no grievances. But the soldiers thought dif¬
ferently. “ Dissatisfactions rose to a great and
alarming height, and combinations among officers
to resign at given periods in a body were begin¬
ning to take place.” The outlook was so threat¬
ening that Washington, who had intended to go
to Mount Vernon, remained in camp, and by man¬
agement and tact thwarted these combinations and
converted these dangerous movements into an ad¬
dress to Congress from the officers, asking for
half-pay, arrearages, and some other equally proper
concessions. Still Congress did not stir. Some
indefinite resolutions were passed, but nothing was
done as to the commutation of half-pay into a fixed
sum, and after such a display of indifference the dis¬
satisfaction increased rapidly, and the army became
more and more restless. In March a call was is-
PEACE.
327
sued for a meeting of officers, and an anonymous
address, written with much skill, — the work, as
afterwards appeared, of Major John Armstrong, —
was published at the same time. The address
was well calculated to inflame the passions of the
troops ; it advised a resort to force, and was scat¬
tered broadcast through the camp. The army was
now in a ferment, and the situation was full of
peril. A weak man would have held his peace ;
a rash one would have tried to suppress the meet¬
ing. Washington did neither, but quietly took
control of the whole movement himself. In gen¬
eral orders he censured the call and the address as
irregular, and then appointed a time and place for
the meeting. Another anonymous address there¬
upon appeared, quieter in tone, but congratulat¬
ing the army on the recognition accorded by the
commander-in-chief.
When the officers assembled, Washington arose
with a manuscript in his hand, and as he took out
his glasses said, simply, “ You see, gentlemen, I
have grown both blind and gray in your service.”
His address was brief, calm, and strong. The clear,
vigorous sentences were charged with meaning and
with deep feeling. He exhorted them one and all,
both officers and men, to remain loyal and obedient,
true to their glorious past and to their country.
He appealed to their patriotism, and promised them
that which they had always had, his own earnest
support in obtaining justice from Congress. When
he had finished he quietly withdrew. The officers
328
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
were deeply moved by bis words, and bis influence
prevailed. Resolutions were passed, reiterating tbe
demands of tbe army, but professing entire faitb
in tbe government. Tbis time Congress listened,
and tbe measures granting balf-pay in commuta¬
tion and certain other requests were passed. Thus
tbis very serious danger was averted, not by tbe
reluctant action of Congress, but by tbe wisdom
and strength of tbe general, who was loved by bis
soldiers after a fashion that few conquerors could
boast.
Underlying all these general discontents, there
was, besides, a well-defined movement, which saw
a solution of all difficulties and a redress of all
wrongs in a radical change of tbe form of govern¬
ment, and in the elevation of Washington to su¬
preme power. Tbis party was satisfied that tbe
existing system was a failure, and that it was not
and could not be made either strong, honest, or re¬
spectable. The obvious relief was in some kind of
monarchy, with a large infusion of the one-man
power; and it followed, as a matter of course, that
the one man could be no other than the commander-
in-chief. In May, 1782, when the feeling in the
army had risen very high, this party of reform
brought their ideas before Washington through an
old and respected friend of his, Colonel Nicola.
The colonel set forth very clearly the failure and
shortcomings of the existing government, argued
in favor of the substitution of something much
stronger, and wound up by hinting very plainly
PEACE.
329
that his correspondent was the man for the crisis
and the proper savior of society. The letter was
forcible and well written, and Colonel Nicola was
a man of character and standing. It could not be
passed over lightly or in silence, and Washington
replied as follows : —
“ With a mixture of surprise and astonishment,
I have read with attention the sentiments you have
submitted to my perusal. Be assured, sir, no occur¬
rence in the course of the war has given me more
painful sensations than your information of there
being such ideas existing in the army as you have
expressed, and [which] I must view with abhorrence
and reprehend with severity. For the present, the
communication of thentwill rest in my own bosom,
unless some further agitation of the matter shall
make a disclosure necessary. I am much at a loss
to conceive what part of my conduct could have
given encouragement to an address which seems to
me big with the greatest mischiefs that can befall
my country. If I am not deceived in the knowl¬
edge of myself, you could not have found a per¬
son to whom your schemes are more disagreeable.
At the same time, in justice to my own feelings,
I must add that no man possesses a more sincere
wish to see justice done to the army than I do ; and
as far as my power and influence in a constitutional
way extend, they shall be employed to the utmost
of my abilities to effect it, should there be any
occasion. Let me conjure you, then, if you have
any regard for your country, concern for yourself
330
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
or posterity, or respect for me, to banish these
thoughts from your mind, and never communicate,
as from yourself or any one else, a sentiment of the
like nature.”
This simple but exceedingly plain letter checked
the whole movement at once ; but the feeling of
hostility to the existing system of government and
of confidence in W ashington increased steadily
through the summer and winter. When the next
spring had come round, and the “Newburgh ad¬
dresses ” had been published, the excitement was
at fever heat. All the army needed was a leader.
It was as easy for Washington to have grasped
supreme power then, as it would have been for
Caesar to have taken the crown from Antony upon
the Lupercal. He repelled Nicola’s suggestion
with quiet reproof, and took the actual movement,
when it reared its head, into his own hands and
turned it into other channels. This incident has
been passed over altogether too carelessly by his¬
torians and biographers. It has generally been
used merely to show the general nobility of Wash¬
ington’s sentiments, and no proper stress has been
laid upon the facts of the time which gave birth
to such an idea and such a proposition. It would
have been a perfectly feasible thing at that par¬
ticular moment to have altered the frame of gov¬
ernment and placed the successful soldier in pos¬
session of supreme power. The notion of kingly
government was, of course, entirely familiar to
everybody, and had in itself nothing repulsive.
PEACE.
331
The confederation was disintegrated, tlie States
were demoralized, and the whole social and politi¬
cal life was weakened. The army was the one
coherent, active, and thoroughly organized body in
the country. Six years of war had turned them
from militia into seasoned veterans, and they stood
armed and angry, ready to respond to the call of
the great leader to whom they were entirely de¬
voted. When the English troops were once with¬
drawn, there was nothing on the continent that
could have stood against them. If they had moved,
they would have been everywhere supported by
their old comrades who had returned to the ranks
of civil life, by all the large class who wanted peace
and order in the quickest and surest way, and by
the timid and tired generally. There would have
been in fact no serious opposition, probably because
there would have been no means of sustaining it.
The absolute feebleness of the general govern¬
ment was shown a few weeks later, when a recently
recruited regiment of Pennsylvania troops mu¬
tinied, and obliged Congress to leave Philadelphia,
unable either to defend themselves or procure de¬
fence from the State. This mutiny was put down
suddenly and effectively ■•by Washington, very
wroth at the insubordination of raw troops, who had
neither fought nor suffered. Yet even such muti¬
neers as these would have succeeded in a large meas¬
ure, had it not been for Washington, and one can
easily imagine from this incident the result of dis¬
ciplined and well-planned action on the part of the
332
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
army led by their great chief. In that hour of
debility and relaxation, a military seizure of the
government and the erection of some form of mon¬
archy would not have been difficult. Whether such
a change would have lasted is another question, but
there is no reason to doubt that at the moment it
might have been effected. Washington, however,
not only refused to have anything to do with the
scheme, but he used the personal loyalty which
might have raised him to supreme power to check
all dangerous movements and put in motion the
splendid and unselfish patriotism for which the
army was conspicuous, and which underlay all their
irritations and discontents.
The obvious view of Washington’s action in this
crisis as a remarkable exhibition of patriotism is
at best somewhat superficial. In a man in any
way less great, the letter of refusal to Nicola and
the treatment of the opportunity presented at the
time of the Newburgh addresses would have been
fine in a high degree. In Washington they were
not so extraordinary, for the situation offered him
no temptation. Carlyle was led to think slight¬
ingly of Washington, one may believe, because he
did not seize the tottering government with a
strong hand, and bring order out of chaos on the
instant. But this is a woful misunderstanding of
the man. To put aside a crown for love of coun¬
try is noble, but to look down upon such an op¬
portunity indicates a much greater loftiness and
strength of mind. Washington was wholly free
PEACE.
833
from the vulgar ambition of the usurper, and the
desire of mere personal aggrandizement found no
place in his nature. His ruling passion was the
passion for success, and for thorough and complete
success. What he could not bear was the least
shadow of failure. To have fought such a war
to a victorious finish, and then turned it to his
own advantage, would have been to him failure of
the meanest kind. He fought to free the colo¬
nies from England, and make them independent,
not to play the part of a Csesar or a Cromwell in
the wreck and confusion of civil war. He flung
aside the suggestion of supreme power, not simply
as dishonorable and unpatriotic, but because such
a result would have defeated the one great and
noble object at which he aimed. Nor did he act
in this way through any indolent shrinking from
the great task of making what he had won worth
winning, by crushing the forces of anarchy and
separation, and bringing order and unity out of
confusion. From the surrender of Yorktown to
the day of his retirement from the Presidency, he
worked unceasingly to establish union and strong
government in the country he had made indepen¬
dent. He accomplished this great labor more suc¬
cessfully by honest and lawful methods than if
he had taken the path of the strong-handed savior
of society, and his work in this field did more for
the welfare of his country than all his battles. To
have restored order at the head of the army was
much easier than to effect it in the slow and law-
334
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
abiding fashion which he adopted. To have re¬
fused supreme rule, and then to have effected in
the spirit and under the forms of free government
all and more than the most brilliant of military
chiefs could have achieved by absolute power, is a
glory which belongs to Washington alone.
Nevertheless, at that particular juncture it was,
as he himself had^ said, “high time for a peace.”
The danger at Newburgh had been averted by his
commanding influence and the patriotic conduct of
the army. But it had been averted only, not re¬
moved. The snake was scotched, not killed. The
finishing stroke was still needed in the form of an
end to hostilities, and it was therefore fortunate
for the United States that a fortnight later, on
March 23d, news came that a general treaty of
peace had been signed. This final consummation-
of his work, in addition to the passage by Congress
of the half-pay commutation and the settlement of
the army accounts, filled Washington with deep
rejoicing. He felt that in a short time, a few
weeks at most, he would be free to withdraw to the
quiet life at Mount Yernon for which he longed.
But public bodies move slowly, and one delay after
another occurred to keep him still in the harness.
He chafed under the postponement, but it was not
possible to him to remain idle even when he
awaited in almost daily expectation the hour of
dismissal. He saw with the instinctive glance of
statesmanship that the dangerous point in the
treaty of peace was in the provisions as to the
PEACE.
335
western posts on tlie one side, and those relating
to British debts on the other. A month therefore
had not passed before he brought to the attention
of Congress the importance of getting immediate
possession of those posts, and a little later he suc¬
ceeded in having Steuben sent out as a special
envoy to obtain their surrender. The mission was
vain, as he had feared. He was not destined to ex¬
tract this thorn for many years, and then only after
many trials and troubles. Soon afterward he made
a journey with Governor Clinton to Ticonderoga,
and along the valley of the Mohawk, “ to wear
away the time,” as he wrote to Congress. He wore
away time to more purpose than most people, for
where he travelled he observed closely, and his ob¬
servations were lessons which he never forgot. On
this trip he had the western posts and the Indians
always in mind, and familiarized himself with the
conditions of a part of the country where these
matters were of great importance.
On his return he went to Princeton, where Con¬
gress had been sitting since their flight from the
niutiny which he had recently suppressed, and
where a house had been provided for his use. He
remained there two months, aiding Congress in
their work. During the spring he had been en¬
gaged on the matter of a peace establishment, and
he now gave Congress elaborate and well-matured
advice on that question, and on those of public
lands, western settlement, and the best Indian policy.
In all these directions his views were clear, far-
336
GEORGE WASHINGTON,
sighted, and wise. He saw that in these questions
was involved much of the future development and
wellbeing of the country, and he treated them with
a precision and an easy mastery which showed the
thought he had given to the new problems which
now were coming to the front. Unluckily, he was
so far ahead, both in knowledge and perception, of
the body with which he dealt, that he could get
little or nothing done, and in September he wrote
in plain but guarded terms of the incapacity of the
lawmakers. The people were not yet ripe for his
measures, and he was forced to bide his time, and
see the injuries caused by indifference and short¬
sightedness work themselves out. Gradually, how¬
ever, the absolutely necessary business was brouglit
to an end. Then Washington issued a circular
letter to the governors of the States, which was
one of the ablest he ever wrote, and full of the
profoundest statesmanship, and he 'also sent out a
touching address of farewell to the army, eloquent
with wisdom and with patriotism.
From Princeton he went to West Point, where
the army that still remained in service was stationed.
Thence he moved to Harlem, and on November
25th the British army departed, and Washington,
with his troops, accompanied by Governor Clinton
and some regiments of local militia, marched in and
took possession. This was the outward sign that
the war was over, and that American independence
had been won. Carleton feared that the entry of
the American army might be the signal for con-
PEACE.
337
fusion and violence, in which the Tory inhabitants
would suffer ; but everything passed off with perfect
tranquillity and good order, and in the evening
Clinton gave a public dinner to the commander-in¬
chief and the officers of the army.
All was now over, and Washington prepared to
go to Annapolis and lay down his commission. On
December 4th his officers assembled in Fraunces’
Tavern to bid him farewelL As he looked about
on his faithful friends, his usual self-command de¬
serted him, and he could not control his voice.
Taking a glass of wine, he lifted it up, and said
simply, ‘‘ W^ith a heart full of love and gratitude
I now take my leave of you, most devoutly wishing
that your latter days may be as prosperous and
happy as your former ones have been glorious and
honorable.” The toast was drunk in silence, and
then Washington added, “ 1 cannot come to each
of you and take my leave, but shall be obliged if
you will come and take me by the hand.” One by
one they approached, and Washington grasped the
hand of each man and embraced him. His eyes
were full of tears, and he could not trust himself to
speak. In silence he bade each and aU farewell,
and then, accompanied by his officers, walked to
Whitehall Ferry. Entering his barge, the word
was given, and as the oars struck the water he
stood up and lifted his hat. In solemn silence his
officers returned the salute, and watched the noble
and gracious figure of their beloved chief until the
boat disappeared from sight behind the point of
the Battery.
338
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
At Philadelphia he stopped a few days and ad¬
justed his accounts, which he had in characteristic
fashion kept himself in the neatest and most me¬
thodical way. He had drawn no pay, and had ex¬
pended considerable sums from his private fortune,
which he had omitted to charge to the government.
The gross amount of his expenses was about 15,000
pounds sterling, including secret service and other
incidental outlays. In these days of wild money¬
hunting, there is something worth pondering in this
simple business settlement between a great general
and his government, at the close of eight years of
war. This done, he started again on his journey.
From Philadelphia he proceeded to Annapolis,
greeted with addresses and hailed with shouts at
every town and village on his route, and having
reached his destination, he addressed a letter to
Congress on December 20th, asking when it would
be agreeable to them to receive him. The 23d was
appointed, and on that day, at noon, he appeared
before Congress.
The following year a French orator and “ maitre
avocat,” in an oration delivered at Toulouse upon
the American Pevolution, described this scene in
these words : “ On the day when Washington re¬
signed his commission in the hall of Congress, a
crown decked with jewels was placed upon the Book
of the Constitutions. Suddenly Washington seizes
it, breaks it, and flings the pieces to the assembled
people. How small ambitious Caesar seems beside
the hero of America.” It is worth while to recall
PEACE.
339
this contemporary French description, because its
theatrical and dramatic untruth gives such point
by contrast to the plain and dignified reality. The
scene was the hall of Congress. The members
representing the sovereign power were seated and
covered, while all the space about was filled by the
governor and state oflficers of Maryland, by military
officers, and by the ladies and gentlemen of the
neighborhood, who stood in respectful silence with
uncovered heads. Washington was introduced by
the Secretary of Congress, and took a chair which
had been assigned to him. There was a brief
pause, and then the president said that ‘‘ the United
States in Congress assembled were prepared to re¬
ceive his communication.” Washington rose, and
replied as follows :
“ Mk. President : The great events, on which
my resignation depended, having at length taken
place, I have now the honor of offering my sincere
congratulations to Congress, and of presenting my¬
self before them, to surrender into their hands the
trust committed to me, and to claim the indulgence
of retiring from the service of my country.
“ Happy in the confirmation of our independence
and sovereignty, and pleased with the opportunity
afforded the United States of becoming a respec¬
table nation, I resign with satisfaction the appoint¬
ment I accepted with diffidence ; a diffidence in my
abilities to accomplish so arduous a task, which,
however, was superseded by a confidence in the
rectitude of our cause, the support of the supreme
340
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
power of the Union, and the patronage of Heaven.
The successful termination of the war has verified
the most sanguine expectations ; and my grati¬
tude for the interposition of Providence, and the
assistance I have received from my countrymen,
increases with every review of the momentous con¬
test.” Then, after a word of gratitude to the army
and to his staff, he concluded as follows : “ I con¬
sider it an indispensable duty to close this last sol¬
emn act of my official life by commending the in¬
terests of our dearest country to the protection of
Almighty God, and those who have the superinten¬
dence of them to his holy keeping.
Having now finished the work assigned me, I
retire from the great theatre of action ; and bid¬
ding an affectionate farewell to this august body,
under whose orders I have so long acted, I here of¬
fer my commission, and take my leave of all the
employments of public life.”
In singularly graceful and eloquent words his
old opponent, Thomas Mifflin, the president, replied,
the simple ceremony ended, and Washington left
the room a private citizen.
The great master of English fiction, touching this
scene with skilful hand, has said : “ Which was the
most splendid spectacle ever witnessed, the opening
feast of Prince George in London, or the resigna¬
tion of W ashington ? Which is the noble charac¬
ter for after ages to admire, — yon fribble dancing
in lace and spangles, or yonder hero who sheathes
his sword after a life of spotless honor, a purity
PEACE.
341
unreproached, a courage indomitable, and a con¬
summate victory ? ”
There is no need to say more. Comment or
criticism on such a farewell, from such a man, at
the close of a long civil war, would be not only
superfluous but impertinent. The contemporary
newspaper, in its meagre account, said that the oc¬
casion was deeply solemn and affecting, and that
many persons shed tears. AV^ell indeed might
those then present have been thus affected. They
had witnessed a scene memorable forever in the
annals of all that is best and noblest in human na¬
ture. They had listened to a speech which was not
equalled in meaning and spirit in American his¬
tory until, eighty years later, Abraham Lincoln
stood upon the slopes of Gettysburg and uttered
his immortal words upon those who died that the
country might live.
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